


Lovett, Lies, and Statistics

by speakingwosound (sev313)



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Favs has lost himself in Boston, Lovett's a math professor, M/M, Polyamory, Tommy runs away to Europe, even more politics talk, lots of dog content, lots of math talk, maybe more dog content than people content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-16 06:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13048272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sev313/pseuds/speakingwosound
Summary: "Being too cynical and pleasantly surprised is not more sophisticated than being too idealistic and disappointed" - Jon LovettAfter Donald Trump wins the 2016 election, Favs, Lovett, and Tommy go their separate ways.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [formerlydf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/formerlydf/gifts).



> Written for Yuletide 2017. formerlydf, thank you for your wonderful prompts - I really hope you like this!
> 
> Idea first came from [this video](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/jeffzeleny/166542088203) of Lovett explaining statistics to a Crooked Media intern.
> 
> Title comes from "Lies, Damn Lies, and Statistics" which is a Benjamin Desrali quote but, more importantly, a great episode of the West Wing.

**May, 2017**

"Professor Lovett."

"Professor Lovett? I can come back if-"

At Lovett’s feet, Pundit half-raises her head and gives a lazy bark. Lovett raises his finger, frowning at his screen. "'Is a doofus' or 'can’t see the wood for his big, fat head'?"

"Um, me? I know I didn’t do well on the exam. But, I studied, I swear, I even had a group. You can ask Sam and Katie. I’m just rubbish at math. Fuck, I knew it the minute I opened that exam booklet."

Lovett looks up, blinking at the student standing before him, wringing his fingers around a Volcom baseball hat and staring at Pundit with wide eyes. "You’re right, 'is a doofus' is as poetic as our idiotic President deserves." He types a few more words, hits send, then swivels his chair away from his desk. Pundit sits all the way up, eyeing the chair next to Lovett’s desk. "Sit down, Josh, before you keel over."

Josh falls into the chair, his long legs folding under him. "Thanks." He doesn’t take his eyes off Pundit.

"Don’t worry about her. She’s an angel." She shows off, jumping into Lovett’s lap and curling around his legs with her head resting on his armrest. He twists his fingers into her fur. "And you didn’t fail your exam."

Josh lets out a long, deep breath that had to have been cutting off a few brain cells, while Lovett shuffles through a manila folder of exams one-handed.

He pulls out Josh’s exam and reaches for a red pen, before pushing his chair closer. "Don’t be too relieved. You didn’t do _that_ well."

"Oh." Josh’s face falls and, this time, Lovett can see the tips of his ears turn red. "I’m not so good with triangles. They’re all- angles."

"I hope you don’t talk to your English professor with that mouth." Lovett bites the inside of his lip to hold back a rant on the appropriate use of 'so' in sentences, colloquial or not. Pundit huffs, and he loosens his hold on her ear.

"Yeah. Ahh, I mean, no, I have better- I have better words."

Lovett bites down hard enough to draw a little bit of blood. 

"Sorry. I’m a bit nervous."

Lovett lets his lip go, reminds himself that he wanted this. He chose this. "No need. Angles weren’t really my thing, either, until I learned a few tricks."

Josh’s face brightens and he leans over the desk to watch as Lovett starts drawing triangles on the back of his exam. He’s close enough for Pundit to lift her head into his hand and, without looking away from the paper, Josh starts petting behind her ears.

Surreptitiously, Lovett takes a picture to post to the WhatsApp group later with the caption _best math therapy dog Caltech has ever seen_.

It’s long past midnight in Brussels, but Tommy responds immediately. _Caltech's really scraping the bottom of the barrel, huh?_ followed by a picture of a pile of briefing books on his desk at least three feet tall. _Think she’d be any good at paperwork?_

_go 2 BED_ Lovett sends back. _You’re too handsome to pull off bags under your eyes_.

Tommy sends back a middle finger emoji.

Lovett’s pretty sure that speaking French all the time is rotting Tommy’s brain.

***

Lovett’s long past trading the office for a local Caltech dive bar by the time Favs graces them with his wit.

It’s a picture of Leo sleeping on an old textbook, a Red Sox cap perched on his head. _Leo loves paperwork_. 

Lovett lets it linger on his unlocked phone, perched on top of a pile of exams to rival Tommy’s paperwork, for longer than he really wants to contemplate before he finally settles on, _C+ for effort_.

He waits. 

His phone stays quiet.

"Lovett, you’re up. Your 5 minutes starts now."

He sets his phone down with a sigh and makes his way to the stage.

"So, this is weird, right?" Lovett flips the microphone in his hand, testing its weight. "I’m up here every Wednesday night, and it’s still weird."

The stage is sticky with spilled beer and peanut shells. The bar is lightly crowded with harried graduate students and older undergrads who have grown tired of the bright lights and loose ID regulations of the main drag. They’re still chatting amongst themselves, less interested in the parade of comedians and acoustic guitars and one bizarre, but fairly talented accordion.

Lovett spends his days coaxing attention from jaded Caltech students and his Wednesday nights in this godforsaken bar.

He misses having a captive audience. 

"Anyway, I had a set planned. It was full of tested jokes and anecdotes, but I don’t think you deserve anything so polished." He deliberately pulls out a stack of index cards and starts tearing them into pieces. "Besides, there’s something bothering me, and I’ve always thought: there’s no better place to work out your deepest insecurities than a stage, am I right?"

A few chuckles. 

"Comedians, we’re not like normal people."

A few more chuckles. Lovett subtly angles his body towards a group on the left side of the stage who are starting to pay him some attention.

"And, look, part of that is- well, I’m not the easiest person to love. This little body houses enough narcissism to fill a football park or arena or stadium or whatever they call that big place with all the bleachers."

A few winces but a few more laughs. A guy in the front row rolls his eyes.

"Hey, hey." Lovett points directly at him. "You think I don’t know that you’re wearing a UCLA jersey, but what I don’t know about sports I make up in fashion knowledge. And you, my friend, are in the wrong part of town. You might wanna be nice to me."

Lovett laughs a little along with the guy, who raises his beer in Lovett’s direction. Comedic crisis averted. 

"Anyway, this thing that’s been on my mind- I have this friend, right? He’s a goober. Bigger nerd than me, and I can quote almost the entire Lord of the Rings Trilogy. I’m just gonna pause, to give you time to applaud."

A few laughs.

"Nothing? Tough group tonight." Jon chuckles, shifting his weight. "So, this friend of mind - the goober - I’ve known him for a while. Is a decade a while? More than a while, probably." Jon shakes his head. "This friend - more than a friend, really-"

Cat calls from the back corner.

"Not in that way you perverts." Lovett tilts his head. "Well, maybe. I don’t know. It’d explain a few things."

Someone calls, "always does," and Lovett laughs.

"This more-than-a-friend-of-mine, he followed me out to LA. Couldn’t handle living in DC without my presence. Moved in across the street, lived in my pocket, like, right in my pocket. He was this tall." Lovett raises his thumb and forefinger, a few inches a part. "It was good, you know? So good."

The guy in the front row is leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, UCLA jersey bunching around his biceps. Lovett winks, then turns to the room at large.

"A year ago, he moved to Boston."

Whistles, cheers.

"Where are my Bostonians?" Lovett shields his eyes, settling on a group in the back waving their hands at him. "I see you, I see you. I want to thank you for coming to the show before I tell you that Boston sucks." The group boos. Lovett’s pretty sure it’s good-naturedly. "It sucks big time. It’s cold and snowy, it gave us fig newtons - the worst excuse for a cookie of all time - and Marky Mark - the actor with the worst childhood nickname of all time. Also Happy Hours are illegal there, did you know that?"

Even the group in the back boos.

"Yeah, just think about that for a moment. No more $2 sliders or $5 glasses of house wine. How do students even survive in Boston?"

There’s a call of "we wouldn’t" from the group to his left.

"'We wouldn’t.' You hear that? Boston. Despicable town. So, to bring it back to my story, it’s not much of a surprise, then, that Boston turned this friend of mine into an asshole.

"Now, you might say, 'people grow up, they grow apart, this is all part of life. Deal with it.' To which I say - first, fuck you - second, I know it’s Boston’s fault. Cause here’s the thing: we’ve lived in different cities before. Different coasts, even. Long before we had 140 characters - 280 for those lucky bastards who held a séance for the Twitter gods or whatever the fuck you had to do to be one of the chosen ones - and group chats and Skype. We didn’t have any of that, and things were fine. Fucking technology."

At the corner of the stage, the bar manager gives him a motion to wrap it up. Lovett nods at him.

"They’re telling me to wrap it up. So, let me just leave you with this: if a friend ever deserts you for Boston, he’s choosing fig newtons over Happy Hour, and he’s leaving you. But wants a friend who would choose Boston over you anyway? You’re better than that. Be nice to yourselves. Good 'night"

Lovett places the mic back on its stand to a round of applause that, while not thundering, is way above the lukewarm he started with.

He’s still grinning, mouth stretched wide with adrenaline, when he stops halfway to his table.

"Not bad," Alyssa says, swinging her crossed-leg and smiling at him from his own sit, half-hidden behind his stack of exams, like she’s meant to be there. Like he should be expecting her. Like he invited her.

"Ahh, hi," he offers.

"Although," she continues, pushing herself up and pulling him into a hug. He hugs her back, automatically. "I think you owe Boston an apology for some misplaced anger. It’s almost my hometown, you know."

"Stop trying to erase New York from your history. And Boston is a disgrace. I don’t owe it anything." Lovett sits across from her, pulling his legs under him to sit cross-legged in the booth. "Why are you here?"

"You’re not answering your calls," she says, all casual-like, "so I had to get a little creative."

"There was a reason I wasn’t answering."

She shrugs him off. "I’m not all that interested in your reasons. They’re just barriers for me to work through."

"Well, this is going well. Do we perhaps want some alcohol to go with the verbal bullets?" He waves his hand at the bartender. "I get free drinks. It’s the only perk I get for entertaining the crowd."

"Free drinks is nothing to sneeze at."

"It’s why I keep coming." He takes his gin and tonic gratefully from their waitress, and clinks it against hers. "So, how’d you find me?"

"Followed the Open Mic Night signs." She shrugs. "Where else would an applause-starved attention-whore wasting away on a college campus spend his Wednesday nights?"

"Uncalled for." Lovett puffs out his chest. "I am not wasting away."

"That’s true." Alyssa raises an eyebrow and Lovett regrets calling attention to the bit of a gut he’s developed from too many long nights bent over proofs and bags of Doritos. "When Tommy told me you were studying match at Caltech I didn’t believe him."

"Don’t scoff so hard. This is Caltech, not the University of Vermont. I’m molding the young minds that will pay your social security. I’m doing something important."

"Math," she repeats.

Lovett chuckles. "It’s not a dirty word."

She shakes her head. "Maybe. But 'hiding in an ivory tower while Donald Trump erodes the democratic institutions that hold this country together' is a dirty word."

Lovett counts on his fingers. "That’s 17 words."

"I hate speechwriters."

"Besides," Lovett looks down, running his thumb over the rim of his glass. "I tried- I really tried, but, there’s nothing I can do about the flaming dumpster our national politics has become."

"Bullshit." Lovett starts to shakes his head, but she leans across the table, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. She’s deceptively strong for such a short person. "Bullshit, Lovett. You’re one of the best minds in the Democratic Party and you’re whining about your fiends at Open Mic Night. You’ve spent enough time licking your wounds. It’s time to get up off the mat."

"There’s a lot of mixed metaphors in there." Her fingers tighten and he grimaces. "'Best mind of the Party,' huh?"

She drops his wrist, rolling her eyes and leaning back in the booth, her arms crossed across her chest. Lovett knows that look. It still sends shivers down his spine, years after he stopped working with - for, they were all working for - her.

He sighs. "What do you want me to do?"

"There’s a young state congresswoman in Oregon. The Party likes her. She’s looking for a speechwriter."

"I stopped writing speeches a long time ago." Despite himself, he glances at his phone. The screen is still dark. "This sounds more like a job for Favs."

"He was my first call."

Lovett cringes.

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, fuck off it. Your ego can’t be that bruised that I called _your former boss_ with this before I came to you."

"No, it’s not that, it’s-" Lovett stops. He’s already spent the night telling a crowd of strangers about how fucked his relationship with Favs has gotten. He doesn’t need to get into it again. He changes tact. "Do you want another drink?"

She shakes her head, reaching for her purse. Her first drink is still mostly untouched. "I’ve gotta get back to the hotel. Early day tomorrow."

He nods, standing to give her another hug.

"Call me when you’ve got the band back together."

He gives her a non-committal snort, but she just squeezes his shoulder, like she knows best. Which- if Lovett’s honest with himself, she always has. In all cases. In most cases.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback chapter. It takes place between November – December, 2016. 
> 
> Also, I don't want to give anything away, but there is no infidelity in this section: Emily not only knows, but is onboard with everything that happens.

**November 8, 2016**

Florida looks bad.

Tommy looks pretty bad, too. There are deep, dark bags under his eyes that even the Ringer’s stage make-up isn’t covering well.

Favs still looks good. But Lovett learned long ago not to use Favs as a measuring stick, for looks or for writing or for passion. That road leads to failure every time.

Lovett refuses to look into a mirror or the Periscope cameras. He knows, without looking, exactly how bad he looks.

He stares, instead, at an electoral map that is blinking back at him in Republican red and Undecided grey.

On camera, he says things like, "don’t panic yet" and "we’ve been saying all summer, since the moment Trump won the nomination, that he could win, and now we’re dealing with that reality." He means them to be calming.

Favs says things like, "a lot of the data and the polling has let us down, so we have to deal with that. But, we don’t know yet what has allowed this to happen." Lovett’s pretty sure that Favs means them to calming, too.

Tommy, on the other hand, can’t be bothered. He says the things they all want to be saying, things like, "there is going to be an onus on us to work harder, organize better, build up local elections," and admits things like, "I, in particular, could be a little smug about Trump and the campaign, and even some of the individuals who supported him, but, like, we’re gonna have to try to figure out what the fuck people were thinking that led them to this man- that led people to think it was okay to look past sexual assault charges and overt racism and all the things that the stands for."

This night is awful. This night is something Lovett wants to forget. But, the one thing he wants to remember, the one thing- he has never loved Tommy more than he does at this moment.

Except-

Except Michigan is too close to call. Wisconsin is still too close to call.

Lovett’s stomach twists into knots, and he still can’t look at the camera. "I mean, we weren’t mad enough, and we weren’t angry enough at what was going on, because it’s going to turn out that there were weaknesses in the fundamental structures of government - in our civil society - that we were aware of, but we had hoped, and were optimistic, about their ability to withstand this threat. And may turn out to not be true. And we need to start accepting that."

The cameras are off when Ohio is called.

The cameras are off when North Carolina is called.

"Okay." Favs spreads his hands on his knees. "Okay, so, Leo and Pundit are at my place and I’d really like to be in sweatpants right now." He doesn’t say _I’d really like Pennsylvania to be called soon_ , but it’s there, in the tightness of his shoulders and the wrinkles in his pants. "I say we retire to my place. I have wine."

"Whiskey?" Tommy asks, like he’s given up already. Lovett glares at him, but he just shrugs. "Just preparing for the worst. I thought we were done being over-confident."

Lovett can’t argue with that. He leads the way to his car and they tumble in for the short ride to Favs’ place.

***

They don’t sleep. They lie on the couch with the dogs, dressed in Holy Cross sweats and eating take-out Chinese, as they finish off the first bottle of Jack Daniels and start on a second.

"This is my fault," Lovett finally admits around 11pm, wiping at his eyes with the too-long sleeve of his sweatshirt. On the TV, Rachel Maddow and Brian Williams debate Pennsylvania. "I was so god damn arrogant. I’m getting what I deserve right now."

Tommy pushes further into the couch, pulling Lovett’s feet into his lap so that he can better reach Pundit, wrapping his fingers into her fur. "What we all deserve."

"Sure," Lovett agrees. "What we all deserve." He wiggles his feet against Tommy’s thighs, feeling them bunch and pull under his touch. "We’ve failed spectacularly. As a party. As a news organization."

"No, come on." Favs comes in from the kitchen, his hands full of bowls piled high with chips and salsa, Leo at his heels. He slips under Lovett’s head and Leo jumps onto the couch, curling on top of Pundit, his nose in Lovett’s lap. "We’re not a news organization. We’re a- whatever we are. Progressive political podcast that likes the sound of our own, smug voices."

Lovett pushes himself up, bringing his legs under him so that he’s as tall as Tommy and Favs. Pundit barks, rearranging herself around him. Leo scowls, moving over to take Lovett’s place in Jon’s lap.

Lovett ignores them both, pushing the sleeves of Favs’ sweatshirt up his forearms so that he can talk with his hands. He feels wild, a little crazy, the whiskey coursing through his veins and the skin around his eyes still red and tight. "Maybe we should be."

Favs wraps one hand around his glass and the other around Leo. "Be what?"

"A media organization." Favs raises an eyebrow. Tommy doesn’t open his eyes. "No, no, hear me out. Our institutions have failed us tonight, right? The pollsters, the DNC," he motions towards the TV, "the media."

"Right," Favs agrees, slowly, moving the bottle away from Lovett’s hands and spreading his long legs out along the coffee table.

"And whatever way this falls tonight, there’s a lot of work- A lot of soul searching, that’s going to have to happen. I know that, right now, we’re part of the problem, have been during this whole election, but we have a chance to make up for that. We all agree that the media is broken, right?" He doesn’t wait for an answer. "Let’s be part of the solution."

"I don’t know-" Favs shifts, his feet dropping to the floor as he reaches for the channel changer, waving Lovett quiet. "Shh, shh."

It’s 11:30 pm.

On the TV, Wisconsin blinks from grey to Red.

Silently, Favs fills each of their glasses.

Lovett lies back on the couch, his head in Favs’ lap and his feet in Tommy’s. He doesn’t know how much time goes by while MSNBC drones in the background and self-recrimination races in circles around his mind. 

They have to do something. He has to do something.

Eventually, Tommy wraps his fingers around Lovett’s ankle and takes a deep, heavy breath. "There’s a job opportunity. With the UN. I was holding off, but- I’m gonna say yes. In the morning, I’m going to tell them yes."

Lovett’s chest twists into knots. His skin burns under Tommy’s fingers.

Favs fills their glasses again.

***

"This is our last podcast." Favs’ voice doesn’t break, and that’s more than Lovett can say about his own right now. "We- As a team, we just wanted to thank you all for sticking with us during what we know was a very trying election. And I don’t want to sugar coat anything- things are about to get a hell of a lot more trying. We have a list of resources posted on The Ringer’s website. Help out where you can. Vote. Protest. Call your senators and your congressman. Make a difference in 2018. We’ll be doing the same, and hopefully we’ll see you at a rally or a polling place. Thank you for listening. Keepin’ it 1600 out."

They drive directly from the Ringer offices to LAX. Tommy sits in the back, nestled between Leo and Pundit, and Lovett curls into the passenger seat, trying not to look back at the three of them. He does take a picture, though. For austerity, and for the book that hopefully will be written about his campaign in a couple decades’ time. If he can just find a way to get through the rest of this fucking year.

LAX is crowded on the best of days, and it’s no different on a Tuesday afternoon in mid-November. 

"It’s rather irresponsible of you," Lovett says, matter of factly, as they’re standing in the International terminal, "to leave when I’m still in such a fragile emotional state."

Tommy laughs, bending down to pull Leo and Pundit into a hug. They fight for his attention and Pundit wins, resting her paws on his knee so that she can reach his face.

Lovett laughs through the knot in his chest, wiping surreptitiously at the tears in his eyes. "You can’t take my therapy dog with you."

"Wouldn’t dream of it," Tommy promises as he stands again, wiping dog kisses from his face with his sleeve and pulling Favs into a hug. "Take care of yourself."

"I’ve always wanted to see Brussels," Favs tells him. His fingers are twisted into the back of Tommy’s henley. 

Lovett can’t look away. He swallows. "You can’t even find Brussels on a map."

"I know where Europe is," Favs protests, laughing a little wetly. Tommy reaches out, pulling Lovett into their hug.

"Sure you do," Lovett placates, his lips pressed to Tommy’s neck. He can feel Favs’ breath warm in his hair and Favs’ long, strong fingers tightening on his hip. He tries not to think about how much he wants to stay like this, picking out the places where he ends and Tommy and Favs begin, for as long as he can. Forever, if they’d let him. "Don’t forget about us."

Tommy laughs. It sounds loud in his ear. "As if you’d let me."

"Hey," Lovett pulls just far enough away to see Tommy’s face and press an accusing finger into his chest, "don’t underestimate European diplomats. They’re blond and tall and lure you in with waffles and cheese. I don’t trust them."

Above them, a mechanical airport voice calls a number of United flights.

"I’ll bring you some frozen waffles next time I’m in the States."

"That’s what you got out of that?"

"That’s what I decided to focus on," Tommy corrects, his eyes soft, and Lovett thinks he can read all the things he wants Tommy to say in his laughter lines, but Lovett can’t be sure. He can’t ever be sure. It was the biggest failure of his adult life until two weeks ago, but now Trump is President and Tommy is moving to Belgium, and Lovett’s love life feels like the very bottom of a long list of grievances.

The mechanical woman speaks again.

Tommy tightens his grip on Lovett and Favs, then pulls away, lifting his computer bag to his shoulder. "They’re calling my flight."

Lovett gathers Pundit into his arms and watches Tommy walk away through her fur. Favs leans into his shoulder. "I need a drink. Drinks, plural."

"My place?"

"Yeah. I’ll drive."

Lovett hands over the keys.

***

"I can’t believe he left." Lovett swirls his drink. It’s an awful mix of tequila, orange juice, vodka, and pomegranate. They’ve already drunk their way through the good stuff and are left with the remnants of brunch from a few weeks ago. "At a time like this."

"He’s fighting, the best way he knows how."

Lovett hates how much sense Favs can make even while his eyes are slitted closed and he’s slurring the edge of his ’s’s. He lifts his glass, anyway, to knock against the edge of Favs’. "To the Resistance."

Favs nods, solemnly. "To the Resistance." He rests his elbow on the counter, using it to balance the glass in his hand, his strength going with his fine motor skills. He finishes off his drink and reaches for the bottle, his elbow slipping on the stack of papers Lovett has everywhere. "Sorry," he murmurs.

"Just leave it," Lovett tells him.

"Nah, it’ll only take a sec. You know, this place could be really nice if you just-" Favs stops, his shoulders rigid. He’s holding a packet in his hands, Lovett’s realtor’s logo in the bottom corner.

Fuck.

Favs’ voice is a lot steadier than it was a few minutes ago. "What is this?"

Lovett swallows. "I applied to Caltech."

Favs arches his eyebrow, his arm flexing as he shakes the packet in his hand. Lovett’s having a really hard time focusing. To his eyes, the packet looks like ten packets. "For a professorship? That’s a fair bit of ego, even for you. Professors need degrees, Lovett."

"I know." Lovett forces his eyes away, to the floor, where Pundit and Leo are curled together beneath their chairs, snoring slightly. Well, Leo’s snoring slightly, Lovett would bet his life on it. "That’s why I applied to the PhD program."

"The PhD program," Favs repeats, his voice lilting upwards at the end.

"Yeah." Lovett looks up.

"At Caltech."

"Yeah," Lovett repeats. "In math."

"Math?" Favs’ mouth opens, then closes. Lovett wishes he didn’t care. "What-?" Favs covers his face, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. "Is this a prank? Did you plant this for me to see? I don’t really get it, but, I applaud your effort."

Lovett shrugs. "Not a prank."

Favs opens the folder. His entire body is taught, ready to spring.

"I’ve been thinking about it for a while," Lovett admits. "Since 1600 Penn was canceled. But then we started this podcast and-" Favs hasn’t looked up from the folder and Lovett knocks his toes against his kitchen island. Under his feet, Leo looks up, glares at him, then buries his head back in Pundit’s fur. Lovett picks at the edge of the counter. "I applied a while ago, unintentionally."

"Unintentionally," Favs repeats, slowly, still not looking up.

"I had no intention of going," Lovett clarifies. "But then Trump won and there’s this whole school full of young minds for me to mold and- Haven’t we done enough damage already? Isn’t it time for us to do some good?"

Favs finally lifts his head, his eyes a little wet around the edges. "Yeah, but, with math?"

Lovett laughs, punching Favs’ arm before letting his hand rest on Favs’ thigh. "I don’t need to sell the house. That was- That was a stupid idea. The drive from here to Pasadena isn’t actually all that long and-"

Favs leans forward, and Lovett forgets to think. The sentence hangs.

The counter is cold and marble against his arm. At his feet, Pundit lifts her head, snuffling a little as she brushes her nose against Lovett’s ankle. Below his fingers, Favs’ thigh bunches and pulls, the denim of his jeans soft and worn and tight as he leans forward. His lips part, his breath warm, his tongue fast and confident, his teeth perfect as he lets Lovett explore. As he lets Lovett in. As if they’ve done this before. As if they’ve done this every day, for years and years and years and-

Lovett tries to catalogue it all. He tries to file it away in the corner of his mind that isn’t soaked in alcohol or the pain of Tommy leaving. In the corner of his mind that hasn’t wanted to kiss Jon since he was 24 years old, too much ego and too little experience, begging for a job he had no right to apply for, none-the-less expect. That corner is pretty small.

"Mmm," Jon hums, pulling away like this is something they do every day, any day. "I’ve gotta go," he whispers, breath warm and beer-soaked against Lovett’s mouth, "but don’t sell the house."

***

"Thanks for meeting me."

Favs chuckles, reaching out his hand. "It’s nice to meet you. Jon Favreau. Lowell, is it?"

"Lovett," Lovett deadpans, hiding his smile in the beer Favs already has waiting for him. "So, we’re doing this? This being normal thing?"

Favs sighs, deep in his chest, and his face falls into that hang-dogged expression he’s been wearing more and more since election day. Since the months leading up to it, if Lovett’s really honest with himself. He almost kicks himself for tugging the smile off Favs’ face, it’s been way too long since he’s seen it. 

They need to talk about this, though. Lovett’s brand isn’t 'straight shooter' for nothing.

"Emily and I-" Favs sighs again. "We’ve been fighting."

Lovett swallows. "Fuck."

Favs whips his head up to look at Lovett, too close, too intense. His eyes are so dark, and Lovett hates himself for noticing. "It’s not about you," Favs corrects what Lovett isn’t willing to say. He shakes his head, chuckling a little as he motions between them. "Emily’s fine with this."

"She’s-" Lovett shakes his head and sort of wishes that he hadn’t spent the last few days dodging her texts, calls, and tweets. "She’s 'fine with this'?"

Favs shrugs. "Her words. Well, no, what she actually said was, ’If you’re going to keep it up, take a picture.’"

"Huh." Lovett lets that sink in. "I’m not opposed."

"I knew you wouldn’t be." Favs’ voice is laughing, but his face is falling, and Lovett knows what’s coming.

"You don’t need to say it. I get it."

"No." Jon reaches out, placing his hand over Lovett’s. Lovett closes his eyes against how big his hand feels, how warm his skin is, how Lovett’s chest squirms just at this small touch. "I need to- You mean so much to me. More than-" He finishes that with a pause, and Lovett lets him. "It wouldn’t be fair to you."

"I think I get to decide that."

"Sure," Favs agrees. He still hasn’t moved his hand and Lovett wiggles his fingers, just reminding Favs that he’s still there. Favs tightens his hold. "Jon, how would you like to date a confused, broken man in the midst of crumbling the longest relationship he’s ever had?"

"When you put it like that-" Lovett squeezes back. "Well, I’d remind you that this - what you, Tommy, and I have - is the longest relationship any of us has ever had. Probably will ever."

"God, I hope so." Favs laughs a little, pulling his hand back so that he can down his beer. "I really love - loved? - her. I never lied about that."

"You know what this calls for?" Lovett slips his leg under himself so that he’ll appear taller to the bartender. He waves for a round of shots.

"An old-fashioned drink-you-under-the-table black out session?"

Lovett nods, picking up the first two glasses and holding one out for Favs. "Damn straight."

***

A month later, Lovett leans against the Sold sign in the lawn of Favs’ house in West Hollywood. Pundit is pawing at his leg, asking to be picked up so that she can reach Leo, already settled in the passenger seat of Favs’ Kia.

Lovett squats down to placate her, rubbing at the curls behind her ears while he gives Emily and Favs the pretense of privacy.

"I’m sorry. For everything. I really fucked this up."

"Two play that game." Emily’s smile is small as she leans forward to press a sweet, gentle kiss to his cheek. "I hope you find yourself in Boston."

"Me too," Jon says, with feeling. He doesn’t kiss her.

Lovett straightens, ignoring Pundit’s indignant bark as he shifts his attention. "She’s an angel," he says, automatically.

"Yeah, yeah." Favs rolls his eyes, and then he’s reaching out, his hands on Lovett’s lower back. His entire body is warm and hard against Lovett’s. He feels like home, he feels like stability and permanence and all the things Lovett’s been craving since he was an eight-year-old gay kid dreaming about politics.

Lovett blinks rapidly against Favs’ shoulder. This could get embarrassing real quick.

"I’m going to miss you," Favs whispers, breath loud and uneven in Lovett’s ear. "So much."

Lovett wishes he was a better person, but he chokes out, "then don’t go," before he can stop himself. Because he already lost Tommy, and that was unbearable. But, at least, when Tommy left, Favs was here. Favs was always supposed to be here.

Favs shakes his head against Lovett’s. "I have to. Someday, hopefully, you’ll be able to forgive me."

Lovett clutches at Favs’ hip as he steadies himself with a deep breath, before he fights against every nerve in his body and pulls away. "Don’t trade me in for some younger Massachusetts model, and we’ll be fine."

"Never," Favs promises, smiling a little, trying to play along the way Lovett needs him to be. 

"Text me when you stop for the night," Emily tells him. 

"Me too," Lovett adds.

Favs laughs, looking at them both for a long, tense moment, before climbing into the car. Pundit barks and Leo climbs into Favs’ lap so that he can stick his head out the window, snuffling in Pundit’s direction.

Favs waves, and backs the car out of the driveway.

"Come on," Emily says, linking her arm through Lovett’s and leading him back into the house. "I made pie. It’s blueberry."


	3. Chapter 3

**The New York Times  
Opinion** | Editorial

**Spicer, Spicer, Ring Around the Spicer**  
By L.E.O. | July 21, 2017

The Mooch is in. Sean Spicer is out.

Oh, Sean. We barely knew you. 

Six months and 58 news conferences in and Sean Spicer has resigned. The first casualty of a Trump White House in chaos. 

From the beginning, Spicer was a strange fit. Along with Chief of Staff Reince Priebus, Spicer was seen as the Washington insider who could pull Trump back towards something approximating normal and rational. What we all forgot, and what Trump apparently never knew, is that Spicer was an opportunist Party hack. In any other administration, he would have been a low-level communications peon. In the most under-staffed White House in history, Spicer was both Communications Director and Press Secretary. Why? He was the only one willing to take the job.

In case you’re inclined to feel pity for Sean, let’s run through some of the facts. From the very beginning, Spicer stood behind the White House lectern and lied. He exchanged schoolyard taunts with respectable, storied journalists. He refused to be recorded - doing a grave disservice to the American public - because he was afraid of being critiqued by his boss.

America’s journalists would do good to remember that they’re not in the Sean Spicer protection business. Sean Spicer was not a good guy. He doesn’t deserve your pity. 

I won’t miss you, Sean. Good bye and good riddance.  
______

243 Comments

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
I see what you’re saying, I do, but let’s take a quick look at what’s left, shall we? Spicer is being replaced by The Mooch. There are now six ex-Goldman Sachs guys in key administration positions. So for all that Trump talked about draining the swamp - and all the bitching about the privilege in the Hillary camp - his administration is digging new ditches in Washington and is filling them with water. Spicer was bad, he was a spineless cretan of a man, but he was something we understood. The Mooch is a whole different ball game.

**LEO** Boston  
Is he, really? I think we know exactly what kind of guy The Mooch is. He’s a privileged, egotistical maniac. He helped President Obama, he donated to Hillary Clinton in 2008 - he’s a chameleon who will tell Trump everything he wants to hear.

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
True, true. Trump is an empty vessel for the whims of terrible men, and The Mooch is the worst of them all. He’s already in trouble - he hasn’t even started yet, officially, and he’s already gone on national TV to say things that Sarah Huckabee Sanders has already refuted. _Twice_.

**LEO** Boston  
All this talk of The Mooch as the next Chief of Staff, but, seriously, he’s not going down with this ship. He’s out of there at the first sign of changing winds.

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
There are two kinds of people who will work for Trump. The Seans and the Reinces, party men who live and die by the Republican Party and are just happy to be invited to the ball. And the Mooches who are empty, morally bankrupt men who will turn on a dime. Welcome to the Titanic, people.

**LEO** Boston  
Anyone who can be bent and molded to Trump’s will should scare the crap out every person in this country.

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
Sean, if you’re listening, you can still be a hero. You have two choices: take the Corey Lewandowksi path of not attacking the boss, or tell the truth and be useful for the nation. Step up, Sean, and be a hero.

**LEO** Boston  
We can’t wait around for Spicer to be the man we want him to be. It’s up to us because, at the end of the day, it’s not up to the communications staff. Trump doesn’t have a messaging problem, he has a Trump problem. Either Congress holds Trump accountable, or they don’t. And then we either hold Congress accountable in 2018, or we don’t. That’s it. So, good luck in your new job, Anthony Scarammuci. We’re rooting for you.

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
It’s only been 6 months. Jesus.

***

"I’m not sure I have your full attention."

"Huh?" Lovett shakes his head, turning back to the tall, blond, mostly-attractive Hollywood executive across the table from him. Mostly attractive, if he hadn’t shot blanks at all - literally, every single one - of Lovett’s conversation topics. "Sorry, I’m a little elsewhere tonight.

"What are you thinking about?" He has a kind face and a Jewish nose. Lovett’s mother would be happy if he brought him home. Dan? Dave? Lovett’s pretty sure it starts with a 'D.'

"Spicer and The Mooch. Hey, that sounds like a Supremes song." Lovett starts humming what he’d imagine would be the tune and Drew - Darren? - blinks over his beer glass. Lovett sighs. "There was an editorial in the NY Times - it’s not important. Another drink?"

Damien - Derek? - waves his hand and their waiter has another round on their table in under three minutes. The waiter is young and smiley, and Lovett almost asks for his phone number. Not for himself. For Daryl. Dion? 

"Can I get you anything else?" The waiter’s smile spreads to his eyes, blank and beautiful.

"Ahh," Dustin - Dominik, maybe - pats his stomach. All they’ve eaten so far is the salad course. "I’m full. I couldn’t possibly eat anything else. Jon?"

"Chocolate cake," Lovett orders. "With two spoons. And extra whip cream, if you have it."

Their waiter raises an eyebrow all the way to the kitchen.

"Why don’t-" Doug - no, it’s definitely not Doug. Hollywood actors have been changing their names away from Doug since 1994 - leans across the table, dropping his voice. "- we get the cake to go, take it back to your place?"

"I have a dog," Lovett says, apologetically. He’s really thinking about his Twitter feed and is already doing the time zone calculations with central Europe. "She’s an angel, normally, but she has this thing against actors. Can’t tell you what it is."

"Oh." The pretty blond face falls.

The waiter’s back, dumping the plate, two spoons, and the bill almost in Lovett’s lap. "I’m off in five, so, I’m just going to leave this here if that’s alright, sir?"

"Fine, fine." Lovett waves his spoon and the waiter scampers off, watching their table the entire way. "Look," he says, encompassing both the bill and the cake with the next sweep of his spoon. "We both know you’re not going to eat a bite of this cake, so, if you wanna go, I’ve got this."

"Are you sure? I don’t wanna be rude?"

_Too late for that_ , Lovett doesn’t say under his breath. "I think it’s better for the both of us."

"Well." Dwight - Lovett’s pretty sure it’s Dwight, he remembers something of an Office vibe when he walked in - pushes back from the table, reaching for his fashion scarf even though it’s July. "Thank you. I had a lovely evening, I’m just sorry it didn’t work out."

Lovett shrugs, "I’m not," and digs his spoon into the whip cream.

He already has his phone up and his Twitter feed scrolling before Dwight - Duncan? Honestly, he’s never gonna know - is gone.

***

"You look tired," Lovett says, when their WhatsApp video call finally connects.

"It’s 6:30 in the morning." Tommy’s eyes narrow. "Are you in the car?"

"Yes," Lovett says, slowly. "I just couldn’t wait to call you until I got home. I miss you too much, Tommy."

Tommy rolls his eyes. "As long as my god-dog isn’t in the car."

Lovett opens his mouth, aghast. "Never. You think I’d risk her life like that?"

"I kinda wish you wouldn’t risk yours, either," Tommy grumbles, but Lovett pretends not to understand him. Tommy’s been adopting a bit of a European accent over the past few months and Lovett chooses to see it as a symbol of the very real, physical distance between them. 

"I can’t understand you," he grouses, and Tommy rolls his eyes again.

"I miss you, too."

"We’ve already established that." Lovett takes a questionable left turn and Tommy cringes as honking comes through the speakers. "I have a question for you."

"Watch the road."

"I can watch the road and ask a question at the same time," Lovett argues, looking to the left for his next turn, even though he knows it shows off the underside of his chin in the most unflattering of angles. "I have a high IQ. I can tap my head and pat my stomach at the same time, too."

"Rub circles on your stomach."

"Right." Lovett frowns. "That makes more sense, actually."

"I really love these early morning talks we have," Tommy teases, as if he doesn’t live for Lovett’s calls. As if he doesn’t build time into his morning routine every day, in the hope that Lovett will call. As if he doesn’t mark Lovett’s dates on his calendar and hope, pray, whatever a well-off Atheist from Massachusetts can do, that Lovett will call him on his way home. That Lovett will call him, rather than go home with whichever Hollywood elitist asshole he blessed with his presence for a few hours.

"Don’t lie. It’s unbecoming."

"Uh huh." Tommy starts his espresso machine. "What did you wanna talk about?"

"Boston."

"Great town."

"Iffy town." Lovett scrunches up his nose. "It’s really unfortunate that you were born in such an iffy town."

Tommy lets the screaming steam of his espresso machine answer for him.

"Anyway, MIT is asking me to speak at a conference on Cartesian Geometry and Normalized Planes."

"Congratulations," Tommy says, more a question than an exclamation.

"It’s a big deal. It’s the keynote."

"I believe you." Tommy glances at the pile of books on French politics littering his dining room table. "I just have no idea what you’re talking about."

"I’ll explain it when you come to Boston."

"That’s an awfully long flight for a keynote on- what was it? Triangles and airplanes?"

"Neophyte."

"Monster."

Lovett turns into his driveway and Tommy lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. "Anyway, I checked the shared calendar and you’re already going to be in New York. It’s a quick train ride."

Tommy thinks, for a moment, about reminding Lovett again that the UN would be pretty unhappy if they ever found out about that shared calendar. But then he looks at the way Lovett’s cheeks are puffed out, ready to smile if Tommy just says 'yes,' and Tommy’s lost. "I’m sure I can add a few days to my trip."

"Awesome." Lovett lets himself grin. "You wanna see your god-dog before you go to work?"

Tommy grins back. "Of course."

***

Lovett takes the redeye from LA to Boston. He should be sleeping, or, at the very least, preparing for his keynote. It's still nothing more than a half-hazard handful of note cards and he's going to be screwed if he lands exhausted and with a full day's work ahead of him. 

Screwed is Lovett's modus operandi, though, so instead of doing either of those things he pays for the shitty GoGo Inflight WiFi. He whittles away the hours fighting with LEO on the editorial page of the New York Times and, while awaiting LEO's responses, impatiently playing Candy Crush. 

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
I'm out of lives. Come talk to me. 

**LEO** Boston  
I hope you're talking about a game.

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
Of course I am. Who do you think you're talking to, our President's half-naked Russian boy toy?

**LEO** Los Angeles  
If only. This is an anonymous forum. You could be masking your IP Address. For all I know, you spend your winters at Mar-a-Largo and are only here to stir shit up in the 'liberal media.' 

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
Take that back

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
That is so offensive

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
If I was gonna stir shit up, I wouldn't do it in the NYT. Print media is dead, or hadn't you heard? Are you actually an 80 year old, technically challenged grandmother?

**LEO** Boston  
I'm sorry to offend your hacking skills. Clearly, I've overestimated you. 

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
I can't help but notice that you evaded the question. Evasive much?

**LEO** Boston  
No, LOLI - and what kind of stupid name is that, anyway? - I am not an 80 year old grandmother. 

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
Well, that's a relief. And it's nothing. A brand I'm trying out, but to explain more would lift the veil of anonymity, and neither of us would want that.

**LEO** Boston  
Definitely not.

**LOLI** Los Angel  
Isn't it, like, 3 am in Boston? You should be asleep.

**LEO** Boston  
This is so not the forum for this, but, yes, it's 3 am. I can't sleep. Got some things on my mind - some old friends coming in from out of town who I haven't seen in a while. 

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
Wow, over share much?

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
Kidding, kidding! Jeez, no one can take a joke around here. Anyway, old friends are good. They're important. Nothing to lose sleep over. 

**LEO** Boston  
You're right. You're right. I should probably try again.

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
Fine, fine, I'll go annoy some other people on Twitter. Good luck! With the sleeping and with the friends. 

**LEO** Boston  
Thanks 

***

Tommy picks him up at the airport.

It would be better if it were Tommy _and_ Favs, but Favs has to work. Lovett immediately feels guilty for even thinking it. Tommy's good. Tommy's enough. Tommy's the best fucking thing Lovett has seen all year. 

Tommy laughs as Lovett drops his luggage at Tommy's feet and wraps himself as close as he can get. "Missed you, too, buddy."

"Don't call me that. We're not in a cop film."

"Might as well be," Tommy argues, wrapping his hand around the back of Lovett's neck and holding him just as hard. "The touching airport reunion is always the last scene."

"Don't say that." Lovett pulls back, just far enough to pick up his bags, and then pushes back under Tommy's arm. "Our story isn't anywhere near over yet."

"God I hope not." Tommy steers them through the busy Logan arrivals’ terminal and out into the humid Boston morning. "Food?"

As if on cue, Lovett’s stomach growls. "You know me so well."

Tommy grins, pulling on his sunglasses without letting go. Lovett admires his coordination, mostly because it means that Tommy must be really working for it at the moment. Normally, he trips over more curbs than Lovett and Favs combined. 

He takes them to a coffee shop in Cambridge. It serves Middle Eastern food and thick Turkish coffee. It also has free WiFi and no sitting limit. 

"I think I love you," Lovett proclaims, mostly to his coffee. He shows his appreciation for Tommy by slipping off his sneakers and resting his socked feet on the bench by Tommy's hip.

Tommy shoves them off. "Gross. You’ve been on a plane all night and so have your feet."

"I love you less, now."

"I can live with that."

Lovett pouts until Tommy stretches his legs out under the table and presses their ankles together.

Lovett’s stomach flips, stupidly, suddenly. He grins.

Tommy shakes his head as he starts up his laptop. "Figured you’d have left some work for today. I’ve got some work to catch up on, too."

Yep, Lovett definitely loves him. A lot. "Perfect." He pulls out his note cards. 

***

"Favs can’t make it."

Lovett’s head snaps up and he looks over to see Tommy frowning down at his phone. "To the keynote?"

"To anything tonight. He has to work late." Tommy’s still frowning as he furiously types. Hours ago, Lovett had curled his legs under himself, but Tommy reaches out with his leg, anyway, threading it through the rungs of Lovett’s chair. "Something about over-sleeping? I don’t really understand."

"He _overslept_?" Lovett doesn’t know how he should feel. He’s angry that Favs is choosing work above them, has been choosing work above them all day. He’s hurt that Favs didn’t drop everything to meet him at the airport, his hands buried deep into his pockets and a stupid, proud, gotcha smile on his face for successfully convincing Lovett that he wouldn’t be there. He’s so fucking worried that Favs didn’t do any of those things, that he isn’t returning texts, that he’s doing such uncharacteristic, troubling things as _sleeping in_.

"I don’t know," Tommy agrees, dropping his phone face down on the table with a deep, long-suffering sigh. "I’m not even sure I could say if it was normal or not. Now. In this new fucking world order we're stuck in."

"I can’t deal with this bullshit right now." Lovett pushes his note cards into Tommy’s hands. "Help me practice."

***

The keynote goes well. Better, even, than Lovett expected. He’s used to standing onstage, but usually it’s to talk about politics or his personal jokes, not Cartesian planes. It’s harder to make jokes about geometry, but Lovett manages a few. A particular bit about a triangle and a pair of sunglasses gets a few laughs and an outright roar from Tommy.

Afterwards, Lovett’s undergraduate advisor, Professor Morgan, comes up to congratulate him.

"This is Tommy. He did something unimportant in the White House while I was there-"

"I was the Spokesman for the National Security Council," Tommy supplies.

Professor Morgan raises an impressed eyebrow, but Lovett barrels over them both. "And now he’s with the UN. He’s only in the States for a couple of days, so he’s gonna come to dinner with us."

Professor Morgan, bless him, follows along. He didn’t spend two years chairing Lovett’s undergraduate thesis committee without learning a thing or three about how to handle him. He holds out his hand for Tommy to shake. "It’s nice to meet you, Tommy. There’s a Mexican place around the corner. They’ve got pretty good guacamole."

"And margaritas," Tommy adds. "I know it. Lovett, you’ll like it."

"Well, now I feel left out," Lovett pouts. "Let’s go."

The restaurant is loud with people and colors, exactly what Lovett’s been looking for. They order a round of margaritas that come in colorful glasses rimmed with salt, wide enough to fill both of Lovett’s hands. He has three of them and at least a full serving of guacamole himself before Professor Morgan leans across the table.

"I don’t want this to come out wrong-"

"Don’t worry," Lovett promises. "I’ll take it the worst way possible either way, so just say it."

Tommy laughs and, under the table, taps Lovett’s thigh to calm him down.

Professor Morgan, though, just laughs, too. "Fair. But, honestly, I’m thrilled that you’ve returned to mathematics. You’re a couple of months and a few Adderall away from another publication."

"And a Nobel if I work hard enough?" Lovett suggests.

Tommy rolls his eyes and leans forward, conspiratorially. "We’ve tried to tamper that ego a bit, but, it has three heads."

"You laugh at everything I say, Tommy, don’t pretend you’re not my greatest enabler." Lovett pushes his thigh into Tommy’s touch. "Also, was that a Fluffy reference?"

"No, Lovett, that was not a Harry Potter reference. I have some Greek Mythology for you to read, if you can find the time in your busy schedule."

"That sounds boring." Lovett scrunches his nose. It’s starting to get a little numb, they’re really going strong here on the tequila. He waves his hand for another round. "Much more boring than another Harry Potter marathon. I’ll bring the movies, you provide the food."

"By 'bring,' you mean we’ll use my parents' Freeform login?"

Lovett holds out his hand and opens his palm. "And there it is, ladies and gentleman and everyone in-between. Proof that Tommy Vietor the third knows what Freeform is. My job is done here. Mic drop."

Tommy rolls his eyes, but he’s saved from answering by their waiter arriving with another tray piled high with margaritas.

Lovett takes his, holding it close to his chest as he turns back to Professor Morgan, who’s smiling between them indulgently. There’s a glint in his eyes and he’s definitely assuming- Lovett’s chest flips. Sitting in this restaurant, with Tommy’s hand still on his leg and tequila flowing through his veins, pushing thoughts of Favs deep into his subconscious, Lovett isn’t inclined to dissuade Professor Morgan of anything. "So, about that Nobel?"

Professor Morgan laughs. "I wasn’t going to go quite that far, but, modern geometric theory could certainly use your talents." Then Professor Morgan frowns a little. "I’m just not quite sure why you’ve chosen math? You’ve been in politics for a decade-"

"A lot longer than that," Lovett interrupts around that ball in his chest, "if you count the campaign I ran for student representative in third grade."

"Okay, so, longer than that," Professor Morgan allows, still laughing a little. "Academia is a long, solitary grind that takes years of dedication. If you’re going to dedicate your life to it, you have to really love it."

Lovett feels his shoulders drop a little. He’s been feeling good, and he doesn’t want it to end. He takes a long sip of his drink. "I was also a mathlete in third grade."

"The depths of your nerdiness never cease to amaze me." Tommy shakes his head, but it feels like he’s playing along, too.

Professor Morgan waves for the check. "All I’m suggesting is that you think about it. And I’m here, if you ever need to talk it through." He pulls out his wallet.

"I’ve got it." Tommy takes his hand off of Lovett’s thigh so that he can stop Professor Adams’s hand.

Professor Morgan opens his mouth to protest, but Lovett jumps in. "Seriously, he’s, like, a big shot. The UN pays him handsomely."

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Just for that, I should make you pay," but he hands his credit card to their waiter.

"I’m a poor graduate student."

"You’re so embarrassing. I don’t know why I take you anywhere."

Lovett shrugs, reaching for his drink again.

***

"I’m too drunk to harp on this, but-" Tommy stops next to the river, pushing his hands into his pockets as he leans back against the railing. They stopped off at a riverside bar after the Mexican restaurant, and his nose has gone numb. He’s really grateful for the physical support. "Professor Morgan is right. You’re hiding at Caltech."

Lovett presses into the railing, his shoulder brushing Tommy’s as he looks out over the Boston skyline. "Alyssa came to see me a few months ago. She said pretty much the same thing."

"You didn’t tell me that."

Lovett shrugs. "She said I had 'one of the best minds of the party.'"

"Well, I’d rather her not feed your ego like that, but," Tommy turns to his side so he can look at Lovett better, "she’s not wrong."

"I don’t know." Lovett sighs, and it comes out more tequila than oxygen. "I didn’t do so well last year."

"None of us did. The campaign, the DNC, me, Favs-"

Lovett flinches, despite himself.

Tommy reaches out, his hand warm on Lovett’s shoulder. This feels- different than it has the hundreds of times they’ve stood in similar positions over the decade of their friendship. "I miss him, too."

"I know." Lovett thinks about the kiss, about standing in the driveway watching Favs drive away from him and everything they should be building together, and forces himself not to say _you don’t understand_. Even with his mind as fuzzy as it is, he know that isn’t kind and it’s not fair. He hasn’t given Tommy the opportunity to understand. He sighs, and, with sheer force of will, brings them back on track. "This is a stupid conversation. It doesn’t matter. I love math. Do you love the UN?"

Tommy chuckles, his chest shaking against Lovett’s elbow. "Yeah. I’m a huge dork, but, yeah, I do."

"As much as the White House?"

"It’s different. It’s not Code Red at every moment, but it still feels important. I- After the election, I felt so powerless to do anything, you know? I needed to feel like I was doing something, accomplishing something good. This job isn’t perfect, but I do feel like I’m doing some good, you know?"

Lovett nods. Boston looms large and oppressive in front of him, but Tommy’s right next to him, touching him. He lets that ground him. "When a student comes to me with a problem, and I can sit down with them, walk them through it- I know it’s not on the same scale, but I can watch a young person’s mind change in front of my eyes. That’s important, too. That’s doing something."

"It is," Tommy soothes, reaching out to brush his hand along Lovett’s arm. Gentle. Careful. "You’ve done good."

"Your English has gone to shit in Belgium."

Tommy laughs. "Don’t blame it on Belgium. It’s just that I don’t have you and Favs correcting me every second."

"We’re only looking out for you," Lovett argues, turning to his side so that he can face Tommy. Tommy’s hand keeps moving in slow patterns on his arm. "We don’t want anyone to know how uneducated you really are."

"Kenyon College is a real college."

"Sure," Lovett patronizes.

Tommy’s smiling at him. It’s a smile Lovett’s only ever seen a few times, most often back when they were living together, usually on calm, late nights, and always after they’ve been drinking. 

This time, though- this time feels like it might actually end somewhere. They’re older. They’ve been drinking, certainly, but not enough that they won’t remember this in the morning. They’ve been here enough times before that Lovett knows it won’t just go away if he ignores it, as he has been doing for years.

It’s a door, just a little ajar, just enough that Lovett could pull it open if he put all of his weight behind it.

And, god, he wants to. He wants to, almost more than anything.

But not yet. Not before- He needs just a little bit longer.

Lovett can’t let the door slam shut behind him either, though, so he pushes a wedge into the small space.

He sways towards Tommy, closing half the distance between them. It’s not what he wants to say, but it is, at least, a doorstop. "I want to kiss you," he pushes a little against Tommy’s chest, "but you’re going back to Brussels on Monday and- I can’t do anything that will make me miss you _more_. I’m narcissistic, but I’m not suicidal."

"Don’t joke about that." Tommy breathes, catching Lovett’s wrist and holding him close. "Don’t- Just, I know you too well. Don’t joke about that."

Lovett goes soft against him. "I’m sorry. Tommy, I’m not- I’m good, okay? I’m sorry."

Tommy drops his head against Lovett’s. "You’re a monster."

"You’re a ball of anxious worry."

Tommy chuckles. "You bring it out in me."

"Blame me. Go ahead. Kick a man while he’s down. You’ve only got, like, a foot and 30 pounds of muscle on me."

"If you wanna go for a jog with me tomorrow, the offer’s always open."

Lovett snorts. "Oh, I am going to be so hung over tomorrow."

Tommy laughs. Lovett can feel it, Tommy’s entire body shaking against him. "I’ve missed you."

"As you should. I’m awesome." Lovett leans closer. "It’s getting late and I took the redeye last night. Take me home?"

"By that you mean my hotel room?"

"Of course." Lovett levels him with the most obvious look he can muster. "Did you think I had made a reservation of my own?"

"Why would I think a stupid thing like that?"

"That’s between you and your God, Tommy." 

Tommy rolls his eyes, but he puts his arm around Lovett’s waist and pulls him in the direction of his hotel.

***

Lovett is mostly still asleep when Favs arrives the next morning. When they get the call from reception, Lovett’s still in the shower, and Tommy’s trying in vain to make both their beds look presentable.

"Leave it," Lovett tells him, as he pulls a shirt over his damp chest and pushes a hat low over his eyes. "I’m just going to mess it up again tonight anyway."

Tommy raises an eyebrow. "You live like a child."

"And this is news how?" 

Tommy looks good this morning. He’s wearing a henley and well-fitting worn jeans and has 'well-rested' written all over his face. He doesn’t look like his stomach is doing any of the churning that Lovett’s is. Not so much from the hangover - Tommy had pushed two glasses of water into Lovett’s hands before they fell asleep almost ten hours ago - but from the uncertainty of the day ahead.

It’s stupid. Lovett feels stupid for being worried at all, none-the-less for letting it give him physical symptoms. But, then Tommy lets Lovett lean against him in the elevator, raising his hand to squeeze lazily at the back of Lovett’s neck. Tommy’s nervous, too, just in his own, waspy, fake-that-it’s-all-okay-until-it-is-all-okay emotionally stunted way.

They step off the elevator and Favs is there, frowning into the mid-morning sun and holding a tray of Starbucks iced coffees. He’s dressed in what looks like a brand new Red Sox t-shirt and a pair of starched, dark wash jeans. He looks- He looks different than Lovett remembers. Thinner. Older. And when he catches sight of them, he smiles, shy and quiet and not at all the Favs that Lovett knows.

Lovett’s stomach does another flip as he gets closer. He reaches out for his coffee. "Caffeine is a good start, but you’re not forgiven."

"Nice to see you, too, Jon." He takes Tommy’s drink out of the carrier and holds it out. "Tommy."

"Thanks." Tommy looks like he wants to do something - hug Favs, probably - but he holds himself back, following Lovett’s lead. He does, however, let his fingers brush against Favs’ as the coffee passes hands. Lovett watches, swallows, casts around, desperately, for a way not to feel this all so much.

"So." Lovett tries for levity, and mostly makes it. "We only have a day together, so this day has a lot to live up to. What’s on the docket?"

"I know this isn’t your favorite, but," Favs digs into his back pocket and holds up three tickets, "I got us tickets for the game this afternoon. They’re pretty good. Behind third base."

"And that’s for football, right?"

"Baseball," Favs says, slowly, cautiously, like he’s not quite sure if Lovett’s joking or not. Fuck, they’re out of sync.

"Don’t do that," Tommy rolls his eyes, right on cue. "Don’t feed into his- whatever it is."

"My moderately-sized ego?"

"Sure," Tommy agrees, good-naturedly. "Believe whatever you want. Truth doesn’t mean anything anymore anyway."

"We’ve lost Tommy." Lovett turns wide eyes on Favs. "That’s it. Resistance, over."

Favs laughs. "Don’t worry." He pats Lovett’s shoulder and it’s stupid and impersonal and it’s one of the best and worst things Lovett has felt in months. "I scheduled a walk on the Freedom trail for this morning."

"Walking?" Lovett asks, fronted. "That’s a Tommy thing. You’ve scheduled a day of Tommy things."

Favs shrugs, turning on his heel and heading outside. "Tommy’s things are fun."

"My things are fun," Lovett calls, hurrying after him. "Tommy’s things are about, like, staring at the Magna Carta and listening to lectures about Middle East peace talks. Neither of those things have changed in centuries. My things are hip."

Tommy shrugs, squinting as they head out into the sun. "I like baseball."

"'I like baseball'," Lovett parrots. "What, a comedy club would have killed you?"

***

They start with brunch. Mostly, to appease Lovett’s loud complaints. "If you’re to make me go on some long walk, I at least need protein. I thought this was something you gym rats would understand."

"You spend more time on the treadmill than either of us." Favs reaches past him for the salt and pepper. 

"Yeah, cruising." Lovett dumps half the bottle of ketchup onto his plate and dips his breakfast burrito into it. "I don’t, like, run for two hours a day. That would be ridiculous."

"You’re actually looking pretty good," Favs offers, like it’s totally normal to say things like that to his best friend after months of nothing.

"You’re looking kinda skinny," Lovett bites back around a full mouthful in an attempt to cover the way his body responds. "You should eat more."

"I’m eating an omelet."

"You’re picking at an omelet. There’s a difference."

"Boys." Tommy waves his fork at both of them, before stealing a bit off of Favs’ plate. "Wow, that’s good. Yeah, you should definitely eat that."

"I haven’t missed either of you."

***

The Freedom Trail turns out to not be the worst idea. It’s a beautiful day and the fresh air clears out the last of the hangover cobwebs. Although, that also might have been the third coffee Lovett makes them stop for just a few blocks after leaving the diner.

Lovett’s pretty tired, though, when they get to Fenway. "I’m exhausted," he whines, only sort of exaggerating the way his knees are a little hot and sore, as he falls into his seat. "How long was that? I feel like we’ve been walking since the Carter administration."

"Two and a half miles."

"You tricked me into walking _two and a half miles_?" Lovett’s eyes widen and he turns sideways in his seat so that he can wilt against Tommy’s shoulder. "Hold me, Tommy, while I recover from this injustice."

Tommy rolls his eyes, but obediently wraps an arm around Lovett’s chest.

Favs watches them both, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"I’ve gotta say," Lovett continues, catching Favs’ eyes, "I severely underestimated your powers of persuasion."

"Wouldn’t be the first time." Favs waggles his eyebrows.

It looks ridiculous. So ridiculous, but also real and honest and- It’s a lot. Lovett can feel himself flush under Favs’ gaze. He swallows and starts to twist out of Tommy’s arm. "I deserve a beer after walking _two and a half miles_. Beers?"

"You stay." Favs reaches down to keep Lovett from moving, his fingers brushing against the knee of Lovett’s jeans. "I’ll get them."

Lovett watches him walk way, then settles further against Tommy, pulling out his phone. He Tweets out the picture they took at the Christopher Columbus statue. They have their middle fingers raised and they were trying to look serious. There’s a version where they were more or less successful, but there’s another that caught Lovett mid-joke, gesticulating wildly, both Favs and Tommy laughing hard enough to see their teeth. Lovett likes that one better. He Tweets it, then sets it as his background.

"He’s looking better."

Lovett looks up and Tommy nods at the picture.

"We’re doing good."

"Yeah," Lovett agrees. "He never stood a chance against the Vietor and Lovett charm machine."

"Don’t know how he could, when you say such wonderful things," Tommy deadpans.

"Keep lying to yourself, whatever, it’s not like you believe in truth anymore, as you so helpfully pointed out this morning."

"Settle down and watch the game."

Lovett looks out at the field, where the teams are warming up. "I would, if this wasn’t the most boring match in the history of ball games."

"Baseball. The word is baseball."

"The word is boring."

Favs appears over them, a trio of beers clutched precariously in his hands. "Stop bitching and drink your beer."

Lovett reaches out, wiggling his fingers. "Gimme, gimme."

Favs shakes his head, but hands over the beer.

***

Lovett still doesn’t like baseball. It’s slow and he doesn’t really understand the rules. It is, however, a game of math, so he turns his knowledge of geometry to calling balls and strikes as they happen. Calling them loudly, on his feet, gesticulating with the rest of the crowd.

When in Rome, he figures.

"At least, like, pick a team," Tommy grosses.

"I did," Lovett argues, indignantly. "I’m squarely team anti-ref."

"Umpire. And everyone’s team anti-umpire. It doesn’t count." Tommy uncrosses his long legs, standing just this side of steadily. They’re mostly sober, except they’ve had at least three beers apiece, the big ones that barely fit in Lovett’s hands. 

"Where are you going?" Lovett frowns, digging into his back pocket and pulling out a couple of $20s. "If you’re ditching us, at least have the grace to come back with beers."

"I’m going to the bathroom." Tommy rolls his eyes. "Would you like to come?"

"Nah." Lovett waves him away. "I trust you can find your fly all on your own."

Favs chokes, splashing beer over his phone. "I don’t think that’s what he was asking, Lovett."

Lovett shrugs. Favs’ splashed beer against his lips, and Lovett has to look away. "I read between the lines."

"Not so well." Tommy pushes past them both, Lovett’s bills clenched in his fist.

Lovett watches him go, then turns to look down at Favs. "He doth protest too much."

"Mmm," Jon hums noncommittally. "He is right, though. You should pick a team."

"I don’t know," Lovett waffles. "It seems like an awfully important decision. I don’t have all the facts."

"What do you wanna know?"

"Who’s going to win, for a start."

"That’s not-" Favs frowns, aghast. "That’s not how sports work. You pick a team, then you have to stick with it through thick and thin. Even, like, eight decades of thin."

"That sounds miserable."

"You’re a member of the Democratic party. You should relate."

Lovett laughs. It’s been a long time since Favs’ made him laugh. It feels- fuck it, no need to sugar coat. It feels like the best fucking thing in the world, like Passover and winning the Iowa caucus and snowy evenings all rolled into one. 

"Fair enough," he says, hiding his dopey smile by turning back to the field. Where the players are doing nothing. "What’s happening? Why are they stopping?"

"It’s the 7th Inning stretch."

"I don’t know what that is." Lovett frowns. "Is this when we sing?"

"Yeah." Favs nods, pulling up an article on his phone and holding it up for Lovett to take. "Figured you might need the lyrics."

"I know the lyrics to Take Me Out to the Ballgame. I’m not _that_ culturally tone-deaf."

Favs narrows his eyes. "You don’t know what the 7th Inning stretch is. Or what a team is."

"Whatever." On the field, grounds men are cleaning off the field with rakes, and Lovett waves towards them. "This is so stupid. A slow, boring game doesn’t need a break. They’re not even doing anything. Oh, I’m sorry, these athletes get paid millions of dollars to lean faux-casual against that railing and chew tobacco. It’s so exhausting, of course they need a break."

Favs is smiling, small and real, and Lovett can feel a flush on the back of his neck. "Says the man," Favs snorts, "who bitched for an hour about our leisurely stroll down the Freedom Trail."

"It was two and a half hours!" Lovett shifts his weight onto the edges of his sneakers in emphasis. "Leisurely my ass. My heels are gonna hurt for days."

Favs raises an eyebrow at the seat next to him. "You have a seat. If you can, you know, pull yourself away from the game for a few minutes."

Lovett looks between Favs and Tommy’s empty seat, hating himself for waffling, for questioning his right to the space between them.

He sits, crossing his legs and letting his knee rest casually on Favs’ thigh. Favs doesn’t push him away.

When Tommy comes back a few minutes later, "sorry, sorry, the lines were _so long_ ," he stops, standing over them, staring at the place where they’re touching. 

"Sit down," Lovett orders, saving him the embarrassment of standing there any longer, "you’re blocking the view."

"Right, right." He hands over their beers and pushes a hat over Lovett’s forehead. It’s red. "I chose a team for you."

Lovett shrugs. "I can live with that." He lifts his other knee, making room for Tommy to slip under it.

***

The Red Sox win with a late two-run homer and Lovett lets himself get wrapped up in that as they follow the crowds out of Fenway.

"We need to walk a little," Favs says, not looking up from his phone as he steps over empty cans and drunken fans. "Surge pricing is crazy around here."

"Isn’t your place, like, a fifteen minute walk from here?"

Favs’ head snaps up. "You want to-" He trips, and Tommy reaches out, automatically, to catch him. His hand lingers on Favs’ elbow, and Lovett stares at it for too long before he swallows. Favs clears his throat. "We can go back to mine. Sure."

"Sure. There’s gotta be some good delivery around here."

"There’s a Lebanese place around the corner. We could pick up on our way."

"Perfect." Lovett rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I could use a couch. And more beer."

"Definitely more beer," Tommy agrees.

They stop by the liquor store for a case and a handle of vodka and then traipse up to Favs’ apartment laden down with bags of falafel and hummus and tabbouleh.

Favs lives in a third-floor walk-up in an expensive part of town. It’s the kind of apartment Lovett used to think about renting - between his years making a government salary and his years in grad student poverty - but never quite went for. It’s well maintained and picturesque but, ultimately, characterless. Unless 'hedge fund salaried boat shoe' is a character. 

Favs clearly lives here to impress his other speech-writing friends, not out of any love for the place.

"Decorations are okay," Lovett grants him, feeling the leaves on the dining room plants to test if they’re real. They’re plastic.

Favs flushes a little. "My mom helped."

"By which you mean your mom did the whole thing?" Tommy suggests.

"Fuck you." Favs raises his middle finger as he heads into the kitchen. "But, yeah, pretty much."

Lovett follows him, reaching around him to grab for a beer. Favs’ body freezes against his, his back tightening under the soft t-shirt. Lovett doesn’t let himself freeze, too, although he wants to. He wants to stay here for minutes, hours, forever if Favs will let him. But they’re in Boston, in an apartment Lovett’s never seen before, an apartment Favs himself doesn’t seem to really live in, seeing Favs for the first time since a scratchy Skype call almost two months ago. Lovett has no right to be here. He has no right to this version of Favs’ life.

He flips the cap off his beer and hightails it into the living room.

"Hey." Tommy’s already on the couch, flipping through the magazines on Favs’ coffee table. "Share with me?"

Lovett slides onto the couch next to him, leaning into his side and handing over the beer. "Town & Country?" Lovett asks, before repeating it, loudly.

"My dad," Favs calls back. He adds, when he appears with a tray full of take-out containers, "but some of the articles are good. I read it, sometimes."

"You need a cooler life," Lovett tells him, leaving his beer for Tommy and reaching for a new one.

"You’re getting a PhD." Favs raises an eyebrow. "By definition, you’re at the bottom of the cool ladder."

"Fuck you, I’m the coolest professor you’ve ever seen." Lovett shoves a pita piled high with hummus into his mouth and uses it to mitigate his words. "Which you would know, if you had been at my lecture yesterday."

Next to him, Tommy stiffens. Across the coffee table, Favs flinches.

"But it’s okay," Lovett continues, hating himself a little for reminding them that this should be awkward when they’d mostly forgotten, "because next time you’re in LA you’ll come to one of my classes, yeah?"

Tommy’s voice is perfectly even. "I’ll be in LA in the fall for a UN conference. Favs, you should come."

Favs’ shoulders loosen. "Yeah, course. Send me the dates."

Tommy pulls out his phone, futzes for a moment. Favs’ phone beeps. "Done."

"I’ll check flights," Favs promises, quickly, probably too quickly, but Lovett’s too tired to keep reading into all of this.

"Good." Lovett bounces his leg against the couch. "'Cause my lectures are better in the classroom. Captive audience, you know? I hold their grades over their heads if they don’t listen to me."

Favs laughs.

Tommy snorts.

All three of their phones beep. Tommy, who already has his out, reads out loud, "@realDonaldTrump 'So why aren't the Committees and investigators, and of course our beleaguered A.G., looking into Crooked Hillarys crimes & Russia relations?' Jesus, our President, ladies and gentleman."

Favs rolls his eyes. "He’s only beleaguered because you’re subtweeting him, asshole."

Lovett warms. He wants to say _I didn’t know you were still following politics so closely_ and _this is the Jon I remember_ , but he also just wants to do this. Wants to have this conversation, like they used to have every fucking day when they were all living in California and doing the Keepin' It 1600 podcast and living their best lives. So, instead, he says, "so much for the 'you’re fired' catchphrase. Because Trump won’t fucking fire people."

"He just makes their lives miserable until they quit," Favs agrees. "With fucking tweets like this."

Lovett pulls it up on his own phone, shaking his head. "You know what’s crazy about Sessions? I sorta- I almost hope he stays. Devil you know vs. the devil you don’t, right? Who the fuck knows what fresh hell will come after."

"No," Tommy jumps in. "No, that’s- that’s normalizing this administration in exactly the way we can’t. Sessions is the worst AG in our lifetime. We can’t lose sight of that."

Favs makes a noncommittal noise. "I don’t know. I mean, you’re right. Of course, you’re right. But it would scare me a lot if he leaves."

"Right, like, who know takes his spot? Rudy would be terrifying."

"So," Tommy frowns. "Now that Trump wants him out, we want him to stay? I don’t know. That’s too easy."

"Fuck no, but-"

Lovett looks from Favs to Tommy. This feels good. This feels normal.

This feels so damn familiar, and out of muscle memory or out of nostalgia, Lovett sets his phone to record and leaves it unobtrusively on the coffee table between them.

***

Lovett loves LA. It’s warm, designed for lazy people who agree with him that driving is always better than public transit, and full of palm trees and amazing, fresh udon made right in front of him. It even has decent bagels and lox, and, as lax as Lovett’s faith is, Jewish food is comfort food, and he likes a good matzo ball soup a few times a month.

Not for the first time, though, Lovett’s stomach twists when he lands at LAX. He likes to blame it on the airport - the worst airport in the world, Lovett tells Twitter as he’s waiting for over 53 minutes on the tarmac - but he knows it’s not LAX’s fault. Not entirely, at least.

He rolls his bag to the curb and calls an Uber. Then rethinks it, cancels, and calls a Lyft. In the end, the driver who picks him up has both Lyft and Uber stickers in the window.

"Make a stand or don’t make a stand, but the consequences are on you," Lovett tells the driver. He’s a middle-aged Pakistani man who tells Lovett about his last trip to Pakistan, over seven years ago, when his daughter was barely old enough to remember meeting her grandparents. 

"Sorry, for-" Lovett waves his hand as they arrive at his house and he steps out, "what I said earlier. But, seriously, Uber sucks, Lyft is great. Make the right choice."

The driver barely waits for Lovett to close the trunk before he zooms out of the driveway.

Lovett’s pretty sure he’s going to get another two-star review. 

Fuck his life.

He drags his suitcase into the house and isn’t greeted by Pundit, who’s still with the dog sitter until Lovett finds his car keys and goes to pick her up. He misses her. He misses Boston. He misses the years when he didn’t mind leaving his suitcase, unopened, in the middle of his front hall.

From his back pocket his phone beeps, and he pulls it out as he falls onto his couch, back-first.

_Hope everyone arrived safely. Leo misses you guys already._

Favs attaches a picture of his face, frown hidden behind Leo’s curls but eyes wide and fake-sad.

Maybe not fuck his _entire_ life.


	4. Chapter 4

"Professor Lovett?"

Lovett pauses to pierce Daniel with his most aggrieved glare. "You stopped me mid-rant, Daniel. I’ve only illuminated like, the top 5 things wrong with the modern implementation of the Pythagorean theorem. There are many, many more. This. Had. Better," Lovett bounces his heel against the desk to emphasize each point, "be. Good."

The group of students - the best students, the ones who stay after class to hear Lovett’s rants about the things the rant wheel didn’t land on that week - snicker. Daniel, though, swipes his hair out of his eyes and stands his ground.

"It’s not about the Pythagorean theorem, but, I have another class soon and-"

Lovett waves his hands. "Out with it."

"It’s just-" He glances at his fellow classmates and takes a deep, fortifying breath. "I know you used to work for the White House, and, see, I’m really interested in politics-"

"What are you doing here then?"

"You majored in math and ended up a speech writer."

Lovett chuckles. "Fair enough."

"Anyway," Daniel straightens his shoulder, "I’m the president of the math team and, I mean, we, the team, we’ve been thinking of taking it in a new direction this year and- it’s political, I mean, the new direction is and we thought you might be interested it-"

The next class is gathering outside and Lovett nods at his fellow grad student, who looks harried and awfully worried about pulling up his lecture on the teaching station computer. Lovett hops down from the desk and wraps an arm around Daniel’s shoulders. "Walk with me, kid. The rest of you, scatter. We can talk more about the bastardization of right angles on Tuesday."

"So-" Daniel starts, then trails off, as they jog up the stairs towards Lovett’s office.

"So," Lovett agrees, coming to his rescue. "You’re the president of the math team?"

Daniel pushes his glasses up his nose. "Yeah. I mean, I was elected yesterday."

Lovett laughs. "And you’re already making sweeping changes. I like your style." He unlocks his office door and is greeted by Pundit, who barks and stands on her hind legs to lick Lovett’s palms. "Deny you heard that and I’ll help you out with, well, whatever you want help with." He drops his backpack in the corner and lifts Pundit into his arms. "This is Pundit. She likes to lick chalk."

Daniel laughs, a little nervously, and reaches out to pat the top of her head.

"So, what is it you wanted?"

"Right." Daniel stands on the other side of Lovett’s desk, fiddling with the strap of his backpack. "So, the math club, we’d like to change things up a bit this year. To show that math is, you know, relevant in 2017."

Lovett sits behind his desk, adjusting Pundit in his lap as he pulls up Twitter. "I’m with you so far."

"It’s just, math is so important, you know? In politics, I mean."

"I don’t read polls anymore."

"Exactly!" Daniel does a little hop on the sides of his shoes. He lands a little awkwardly. "That’s our point. Math failed in 2016-"

"Math didn’t _fail_." Lovett looks up, narrowing his eyes at Daniel. "The people doing the math failed. Pollsters failed. They didn’t talk to the right people. They underestimated the force of Trump’s rhetoric and the power of his office. They forgot that constituents who answer polls are, by definition, politically interested and - mostly - politically savvy. Math doesn’t fail. People fail."

Daniel’s typing away on his phone, taking notes, grinning wildly. "This is actually what we need. A leader who knows the real impact that math can play in the 21st century. We’d like you to be our faculty advisor."

Daniel brandishes a piece of paper and a pen. Lovett has no idea where either came from, and he blinks, blindsided. He’s never- He teaches four times a week, sure, and he’s managed staff at both the White House and at 1600 Penn, but, an advisor?

He blinks.

Daniel shakes the paper. Or, the paper shakes in Daniel’s hand. Lovett isn’t entirely sure which.

"Um."

"It’s not much commitment. Just an hour or two a week, tops. But, if we want to be recognized by the student government and get any funding, we need a relevant faculty advisor, so, Professor Lovett, you’re our only hope."

"That’s terrible."

Daniel shrugs.

"And I love it." He gestures for the paper and signs his name next to faculty advisor. He gets a little thrill as he does it. "Anything else I need to do?"

"Not yet." Daniel’s grinning, and he snatches the paper out of Lovett’s hands, backing away as if Lovett might rescind if he stays too long. "I’ll send you the meeting schedule. Thank you, honestly, it means a lot."

He rounds the corner of Lovett’s office door, and Lovett can hear a "woohoo" cheer echoing down the hall.

Lovett grins to himself, pulling out his phone. _I’m a faculty advisor, now. Of real, bonafide students_

Favs texts back immediately. _They let you near students?_

_Seems like an overlook_ , Tommy agrees. _Can’t believe you’d pass the background check_

_Fuck u both_ , Lovett tells them. He’s still grinning.

***

Lovett misses seasons.

He loves LA, but he misses the way leaves change, the way every stoop is covered with pumpkins and wreaths, the way the air smells after a later afternoon rainstorm.

The seasons change in LA, too, but Lovett only marks them by the way Pundit grows into her summer haircut - which was practical and adorable, fuck whatever Twitter says - until her curls are long and unruly.

He sends daily pics to the group chat, like those daily selfies people used to post on YouTube back when YouTube was young and innocent and the most annoying thing anyone ever did was post 365 selfies of themselves to two and a half minutes of Green Day’s _Time of Your Life_. Lovett never did one of those. Not because he didn’t want to, but because it always felt self-indulgent and unselfconsciousness. Pundit, though- Lovett doesn’t have to feel self-indulgent or self-conscious about Pundit.

All around him, his students are debating the Federal Reserve Requirement. Lovett’s leaning back in his chair, scrolling through his twitter feed. Pundit’s curled at his feet, breathing heavily across his ankles. He looks down, snapping today’s picture of her and sending it the group chat with the caption, _a furnace in the desert_.

"What do you think?"

"Hmm?" Lovett looks up. The entire club is looking at him. "What? About the federal reserve requirement?"

Daniel rolls his eyes. He’s gotten a lot more confident in the weeks since the club started. "Yes. About the federal reserve requirement."

"It sucks," Lovett says. "It needs to be stronger. It allows big banks to run around, making money off of investing _your money_ , while you make percentages of a penny on the dollar. It’s bullshit."

The club laughs. 

"The federal reserve requirement is nothing to joke about." Lovett shrugs. "No, that’s a lie, everything’s worth joking about."

"You should host a talk show," Sarah pipes up. She can’t be more than 5’2", with two French braids and the kind of attitude Lovett’s always been drawn to. He has half a mind to tell her to quit math and go into politics, but he isn’t quite sure how much of a masochist she is yet.

"I used to," Lovett tells them. "A podcast, anyway. Actually, my cohosts will be here in November. If you’re all good enough-" He pierces each of them with a glare. "Maybe I’ll host a panel or something."

"That would be awesome," Daniel grins.

Lovett waves his finger. "Only if you’re good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my dog wants to go for a walk."

He hops off his chair and Pundit lazily raises her head, shaking out her fur. She yawns.

"Traitor," he murmurs to her.

His students laugh.

***

"No, no, it’s not the Korean fisherman that’s the problem, it’s the Japanese who-"

Tommy’s voice cuts off abruptly as Lovett turns off his car. "Fuck, wait," Lovett mutters as he futzes with his settings until Tommy’s voice disconnects from his Bluetooth. He puts Tommy on speakerphone. "You there?"

"- and it’s fucking custom, so I don’t know- Lovett? Did I lose you?"

Lovett’s chest thrums with fondness. "Nope, I’m here." He pushes open the door and Pundit meets him, barking in consternation as she circles his knees. "And so is Pundit."

"I hear that." Tommy laughs. "Hi Pundit."

"I’m a graduate student who hosts weekly game nights and, somehow, you’re still the dorky one." Lovett drops his armsful of grading and Taco Bell dinner onto the counter and collapses onto the floor so that Pundit can wiggle into his lap. "It’s the reason I keep you around, to put my nerdiness into perspective."

"I reject the premise."

Pundit tilts her head, her ears raised towards the phone. "Yeah, that’s Tommy," Lovett tells her, then, to him, "she recognizes your voice."

Lovett can hear Tommy melt through the phone.

He smiles. "You need a dog, but not ’til you’re back in the States. I can’t possibly Pundit-approve a dog across an ocean."

"No dog of mine could ever not love Pundit."

"Was that a sentence? And I’m not worried about the dog loving Pundit - Pundit is wonderful, it’s impossible to dislike her - I’m worried about Pundit loving whatever strange giant rescue dog your bleeding heart ill-conceivably decides to adopt."

Tommy laughs. "We can’t all buy show-dog quality golden doodles. Rescue dogs deserve homes, too."

"Of course they do." Lovett plays with Pundit’s ears. She may have been a show-dog quality golden doodle when he got her, but she’s definitely too weird and wonderful to be show-dog quality now. Lovett’s pretty proud of that transformation. "Anyway, back to the point. The point being you in LA-"

"Lovett-"

"In November," Lovett finishes over Tommy’s interruption. He doesn’t want to have the 'when is Tommy going to move to LA for me' conversation any more than Tommy does. "I promised my students that we’d host a panel on statistics in politics."

Tommy snorts. "Politicians know nothing about math."

"Exactly. I think breaking down the statistical failures of the 2016 election would be useful for them. And, maybe, cathartic for us." Lovett forces himself to shrug faux-casually, hoping that it carries through in his voice. "It’s been enough time, don’t you think?"

Tommy’s quiet for a long, heart-thumping moment. Then he sighs. "You have to tell Favs."

"Sure," Lovett agrees, as his phone starts beeping. He pulls it away to see Alyssa’s face calling in. "Sorry, Alyssa’s calling. I gotta go."

"Say hi for me."

"If I remember," Lovett promises, before clicking over. "My favorite member of the D triple-C."

"Long time no talk, Lovett."

"Yeah, yeah. Joke all you want, but I know you missed me."

"Believe what you want." Her voice goes hollow for a moment with the muffled sounds of voices and shuffled papers. "Sorry. Jon, you there?"

"I’m here," Lovett agrees as he fiddles with Pundit’s ears. "Just dying of boredom. No big deal."

"Well, I have a cure for that." She cradles her phone in her shoulder, distorting her voice in a way that’s achingly familiar. "I need you to come to Oregon."

"What? I think I misheard you try to give me an order. You don’t get to do that anymore, remember?"

"That’s cute that you believe that." 

"I’m not coming to Oregon. I don’t own Birkenstocks and I go through the In ’n Out drive through an embarrassing amount. Like, three times a week level of embarrassing." Lovett glances at the Taco Bell bag dripping grease onto his counter. "They’d take one look at me and put me back on the plane."

"If you wanna run for office one day, you really have to stop being so truthful all the time."

"Fuck you. I’m relatable."

"You’re a math student with an incurable politics addiction. If there’s anything embarrassing about you, it’s not the fast food."

"You wound me," Lovett whines, shifting Pundit into his arms to that he can reach the bag. He pulls out a handful of tacos. "If you have nothing nice to say, then leave me to eat my tacos in peace."

"Oregon has tacos. Good ones that won’t give you a heart attack before forty." Her pen scratches against a pad. She sounds busy, Lovett feels lazy in comparison. "Oregon also has the best candidate for the 2020 Democratic nominee. So, priorities."

"I have priorities," Lovett complains, as Pundit licks at the grease dripping down his wrist. He’s pretty sure that’s okay for dogs, but he makes a note to ask Favs later. "I have Pundit. She relies on me. And my students, they rely on me too. And my research - the whole world will rely on that someday."

She audibly rolls her eyes. "Leave Pundit with a dog sitter. Teach your students through video - that’s what the Internet is for. And if your research is as brilliant as you claim, it’ll wait for you."

Carefully, Lovett puts his half-eaten taco down on the crumpled bag. Pundit glances at it forlornly, but he raises his knee to trap her from it. "You’re serious."

"The flight’s already in your email." There’s another rush of commotion, and her voice sounds strained. "I’ve gotta go - chaos here, you remember - but I’ll have a taxi waiting for you at the airport. Friday morning. Don’t miss it, this campaign isn’t swimming in donations yet."

The phone clicks off. She always did like getting in the last word.

"So," Lovett murmurs, slouching down the wall so that Pundit can climb up his chest and curl there, still staring at the taco. "Guess we’re going to Oregon, hey, girl?"

***

Alyssa doesn’t meet them at the airport. She sends an intern, holding a hand-made sign with Lovett’s name and a paw print on it. "Jon Lovett?" She asks, holding out her hand. She looks impossibly young, with a long side braid and bright orange glasses. She is wearing Birkenstocks, Lovett can only assume, unironically.

"What gave it away?" Lovett asks, twisting around Pundit’s leash to shake her hand. "The squirming dog?"

She laughs, a little nervously, but when she talks her voice doesn’t waiver. "Not the squirming, the haircut. I’m Heidi Bergstein."

"Nice to meet you, Heidi. I’m going to get you back for the haircut comment, but, first, we’ve been flying for seven hours and my dog has to pee." He leads - lets Pundit lead - the way outside. Pundit squats immediately behind the nearest bush, then shakes out her fur and pulls strongly on her leash. "Sorry," Lovett offers, as he chases her around the small grassy area between the exit and the parking lot. "The vet gave her a sleeping pill, but it wore off in the Portland airport and now she has hours of pent-up energy."

"It’s okay." Heidi brushes her braid off her neck and pulls her iPhone out of her pocket. "We have an hour or so drive, so, we can give her a minute to run."

Lovett gives Pundit a few more minutes, then climbs into Heidi’s decades old, rusty, multi-colored VW bug. "Could you be any more of a cliché?" He asks as he folds his legs into the passenger seat. Pundit curls into his lap, hanging her head out the window and sticking out her tongue to catch the wind.

"You’re a Hollywood writer with a golden doodle." She raises her eyebrow, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as she peels out of the parking lot. "And you’re wearing American flag Vans."

Lovett slides his feet onto the dashboard, looking at his shoes to make sure they’re clean. "These are awesome. And I’m a math professor."

"Oh." She sounds disappointed. "Alyssa said you were a Hollywood writer."

"I was. My show was cancelled. 1600 Penn - you ever seen it?"

"No." She maneuvers the car like it’s a Chevy Suburban. Lovett sort of wishes that it was a Chevy Suburban, environmental issues trumped by his own sense of well-being. "I don’t watch a lot of TV."

"Of course you don’t." Lovett hates campaigns. He hates Oregon. He hates that girls like Heidi are going to run the next two decades of elections. "It was good. The viewing public was just too stupid to get it."

She shrugs.

"What, nothing no smart remark about my delusions?"

She shrugs again. "I read some of your speeches." She motions into the back seat, which is piled high with campaign posters and manila envelopes bursting with printed speeches. "It doesn’t surprise me that your show would fail. You’re not a sitcom writer, you’re a presidential speech writer."

"I’m a comedian." Lovett glances out the window, grateful for the wind.

"They’re not mutually exclusive." She flicks on her blinker halfway through switching lanes and raises her middle finger at the car beeping behind them. "I want to be a speech writer. I’ll be on your staff."

"I haven’t taken the job yet."

"Alyssa said you’d say that."

"And, if I do, I’ll choose my own staff."

"Alyssa said you’d say that, too."

"Alyssa has a lot to say about me."

"Yep." Heidi throws the car into the next lane and Lovett closes his eyes, focusing all his attention on staying alive.

***

They arrive at the hotel-turned-campaign-office in one piece, but barely. Alyssa is already there, sitting in the lobby surrounded by a bunch of files and campaign staffers. She glances up just long enough to give him a quick hug, rub Pundit’s ears for a bit longer, and wrinkle her nose at him. "You smell like a plane. Go, shower, then we’ll do dinner."

Dinner, Lovett has almost forgotten, is never just dinner on the campaign trail. Dinner is a buffet of finger foods - French fries and fried fish balls and something round and green that Lovett is pretty sure started out as brussel sprouts - shared among staffers. Young, bright-eyed, idealistic staffers who all look younger than Lovett’s freshman stats class.

"I’m taking a semester off from the U of O," a young man - Sasha, Lovett’s pretty sure his name is Sasha - tells him. He’s drinking a Hi-C and gesturing wildly with his hands. "Thought I’d learn more on a campaign than in my classes."

"Well, your classes are important. You need to get your degree." Lovett points his finger at Sasha, then shrugs. "But, you’re not wrong."

"I’m taking the semester off from school, too. Graduate school." Heidi reaches across him to steal some French fries from the middle of the table. Pundit rises onto her back legs, pressing her head into the space between them. Heidi drops a fry, "oops," and Pundit looks at her like she’s the second coming.

"Don’t feed my dog trans fats," Lovett chastises.

Heidi shrugs. She’s no less scary now that their feet are on the ground, taking up more than her share of space in the booth. "Teach your dog not to beg."

"My dog is an angel." Lovett pats the booth next to him and Pundit jumps into it. She is a queen at taking up space and, reluctantly, Heidi squeezes her knee to her chest to make enough space for Pundit to spread out with her head in Lovett’s lap and her ass pressed against Heidi’s thigh. Lovett loves her. Lovett loves her so much. "So, tell me about Congresswoman Bryant. Why are you all here?"

"Immigration."

"Equal pay for equal work."

"Single payer healthcare."

Lovett blinks. All three faces are grinning at him, like they’ve been working on those statements for months and have delivered them perfectly. "Okay," Lovett says, slowly. "So, nice elevator pitches. Short and pithy. You’ve clearly practiced them. But, you’re speech writers, or, training to be speech writers, yeah?" All three heads nod. "Okay, so, I want to hear some passion. Start again. You." He nods to his right.

The kid - "hi I’m Sasha" - and yes, Lovett was almost certain it was Sasha, it’s good to know that he hasn’t totally lost it yet - waves his hand. It’s covered in BBQ sauce. "I emigrated from Russia when I was a baby. My mom - she was a really good seamstress. She was hired by the KGB, went undercover for the Americans. Her handler, he heard that maybe she had been discovered and he snuck us over the border. I was only a few months old. 

"I became a citizen last year, but, for a long time I was on a fake passport and I- I understand how Dreamers feel." Sasha looks down at his fingers, where he’s shredding a napkin in his lap. He has thinning curly hair and looks a few years older than he can possibly be. "Congresswoman Bryant played an important role in making Oregon the preeminent sanctuary state. She’ll do even more to help the Dreamers if we can get her to Washington."

Lovett holds out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Sasha. I’m Jon Lovett."

All three roll their eyes, but Sasha, at least, shakes Lovett’s hand.

"That- that was good. I know, now, where Sasha is coming from. If we’re going to work together, I need to hear something like that from each of you. But, I’m exhausted, Pundit’s had a long day, so you get a reprieve until tomorrow." He stands and Pundit follows him, her tail wagging a little slower than usual. "Be at HQ by 8 tomorrow. We have a speechwriting team meeting."

Groans all around, but Lovett waves them all away with, "I don’t like the world at 8 am, either, but we have a lot of work to do in a short amount of time," and goes off in search of his hotel room.

***

"'Morning," Alyssa greets him with a smile way out of proportion with 6 am.

Lovett grunts. He takes a half-hearted walk through the breakfast buffet before falling into the chair across from her and waving at the waiter for a whole carafe of coffee. Pundit lags behind him at the buffet, then falls on top of his feet and falls immediately back asleep. "She snores," Lovett apologizes. "But it’s fucking early so I’m not going to wake her."

"Let her snore." Alyssa waves her butter knife. "How’d you sleep?"

"Fine." Lovett checks himself. "Terrible. The mattress was hard as fuck."

"Name of your sex tape," Alyssa jokes.

Despite himself, Lovett laughs. "Jury’s still out, but it might be good to be here."

"Mmm." She hums around a piece of scone. "Eat your breakfast. I know your hanger."

"Too well," Lovett agrees, picking slowly at his plate of eggs and sausage. "So, what am I doing here?"

Alyssa puts down her silverware and digs through her bag for a folder. "The Congresswoman is opening for Nancy Pelosi next week. We want to use it as a test balloon for her run for office."

"Nancy Pelosi or Congresswoman Bryant?"

Alyssa levels him with a glare. "Congresswoman Bryant."

Lovett holds up his hands. "It’s a fair question. Nancy Pelosi is an elder stateswoman of our party- Anyone would get drowned out speaking before her."

"That-" Alyssa hands over the folder with a flourish. "-is why you’re here."

Lovett opens the folder to a series of bullet points. A policy agenda that feels both way too early and refreshingly thoughtful compared to the current administration.

Lovett flushes with a rush of excitement that he hasn’t felt in years.

***

"Okay." Lovett slams his hand down on the table to get the attention of his speechwriters. "I’m calling this meeting to order."

They laugh at him. It’s only been 24 hours - Lovett’s starting to really question his aura of authority.

"Let’s go through the bullets from the top. Sam, start with the Congresswoman’s position on the economy."

Sam nods and pushes at the side of her glasses. She’s dressed in a casual tunic that screams 'I dressed under the assumption that I’ll still be wearing this in 12 hours' and her fingers are keyboard-callused. She doesn’t look up from her screen as she reads. "'Congresswoman Bryant believes in an economy that supports the middle class. The proof is in her voting record: she voted against repealing the estate tax, she voted for changing the tax structure for golf courses, she voted to raise the minimum wage, she voted-"

"Woah, woah. Stop."

Sam looks up, pushing at her glasses again. Her eyes are wide and watery as she stares at him. "Sorry, was that not- We were supposed to write up her policies in three sentences, right?"

"That’s the bare bones of the assignment, yes." Lovett shoves his fingers into the fur behind Pundit’s ears, physically keeping himself from rolling his eyes. He could really have used a therapy dog while he was in Washington. "But, not the spirit."

"I don’t understand."

Sasha raises his hand.

Lovett takes off his own glasses and pinches the edge of his nose. "You don’t need to raise your hand. This isn’t a classroom."

"Just tell us what to do," Heidi says, crossing her arms across her chest, "and we'll do it. But don’t, like, expect us to read your mind."

"That’s exactly what I expect you to do." Lovett places his glasses back on his nose and looks at her. She looks- She looks like she could - should - be better than this. "You’re on what is ostensibly a precursor to a national political campaign. Why else are you here if it’s not to be extraordinary?"

Heidi doesn’t uncross her arms. Her cheeks are flushed.

Sasha looks down at his lap.

Sam is blinking back tears.

"Anyway." Lovett feels a stress headache building behind his eyes. "Heidi, you’re next."

"I’d rather not, if it’s all the same."

"It’s not." He sighs, sweeping up his papers and standing. "But, I’m going to give you this one. Go take a walk. Smoke a joint. Whatever you need to do to relax, and then rewrite your bullets. I expect them to be perfect by tomorrow morning’s staff meeting."

***

"I’m too old for this." Lovett falls face-first onto his bed, muffling his voice in his quilt. Pundit jumps up next to him, landing on his back. He huffs in pain and pushes her off. "Pundit, fuck, off."

She sits back, her eyes dark and sad.

Lovett sighs, turning onto his side and lifting his arm. She squirms under it, wiggling her body against him. He sighs, burying his face in her fur. "Don’t ever tell Favs," he tells her, seriously, "but you’re a menace."

She licks his face.

He closes his eyes.

And opens them as his phone starts to ring an indeterminate amount of time later. Pundit’s asleep against his side, snoring huffed, dog snores. Behind his thick hotel curtains, the sun has set.

"Hello?" He asks, answering the phone and placing it on speakerphone.

"Hey." It’s not even 5 am where Tommy is, but he sounds energetic and rested. "Welcome to Oregon, buddy."

"Thanks." Lovett shifts on his hip, sore from the hard mattress.

"You sound-"

"Like I haven’t slept in a week? Yeah, that’s how I feel."

"That rough?"

"Yeah. No." Lovett gives up on his hip and flops onto his back. "I don’t know. I have a staff. They’re young as shit."

Tommy laughs. "We were young as shit, once."

"Yeah" Lovett laughs. "I remember." He thinks about hotels, just like this one, in Iowa and New Hampshire and Illinois. When his eyes were gummy with sleep but his brain was hopped up on caffeine and the adrenaline of his first political campaign. He remembers one dark night in a Holiday Inn, shrugging off the intense, anxious eyes glaring at him as he fed dollar bills into the vending machine. He remembers Tommy pulling at the 'Hillary for President' lanyard around his neck, remembers how impossibly young Tommy looked, all pale skin and long limbs and a venom that Lovett just couldn’t deny. 

That venom turned to affection a long, long time ago, but Lovett still isn’t able to deny him anything.

"Still, campaigns are a young person’s game, and all I really wanna do is curl up with my dog and take a nap."

"Yeah, no, I don’t buy that."

"Whatever. Self-delusion gets you everywhere." Lovett picks at the bedspread. "I think, maybe, I don’t know, I could teach them something? My staff, I mean."

"Of course you can." Tommy’s voice drops soft and gentle. "You’ve been around this bend a few times before."

"Yeah," Lovett agrees, laughing to himself. "Besides, they have so much potential but they’re _so bad_. It’s the lowest of low-hanging fruit. I set them to writing up policy points today, and they came back with voting rolls. Like, literal laundry lists of the Congresswoman’s voting record."

Tommy laughs again. "You set them straight?"

"Of course I did. The Congresswoman shouldn’t have to suffer for their incompetence." Lovett convinces himself to get up and off the bed so that he can start the water boiling for a cup of coffee. "They’re rewriting them for the morning."

"They think they can do it?"

"Yeah," Lovett says, quicker and a little more defensive than he expected to be. "I mean, don’t get me wrong, they’re not great, but- There’s this boy and his story- he said something last night, in defense of the dreamers and- he could do worse than being passionate about the dreamers."

"Oh, definitely."

"And the leader - her name’s Heidi - she’s a privileged, white, boho stick-in-the-mud, but she’s going to be running this thing before long. Once I, you know, dislodge that stick."

Tommy snorts. "Workshop that a little more."

"Yeah, yeah." The water boils and he pours it over a packet of Folgers. "You know what I don’t miss? Powdered coffee. Powder shouldn’t be used for anything but, you know, pinking up old women’s noses."

"I should probably stop wearing blush then."

It’s meant as a joke - definitely a joke - but Lovett shivers a little at the image. "I don’t know," he chokes out, "you’re pretty pale. It’d do wonders to your complexion."

Tommy chokes. "You’re a monster."

Lovett hums.

"So, are you thinking-" Tommy swallows. He sounds carefully hopeful. Or carefully incredulous. It’s kinda hard to tell across 5,000 miles. "Are you thinking of taking the gig?"

Lovett shrugs, even though Tommy can’t see him. "I’m here for a week to write a speech for a state Congresswoman. There’s no gig to be had."

"We both know that’s not true." Tommy lets it sit in a pocket of silence for a moment, then audibly shrugs. "But, if you wanna live in your self-delusion a little longer, I’m not going to be the one to stop you."

"You never have before, why start now?"

"Because Favs isn’t around anymore to balance you out." 

It’s meant to be a joke. Lovett’s meant to laugh, hell, Tommy’s already laughing. After Boston, now that things are - somewhat - back to normal, they’re supposed to be able to rib each other about this. 

Expect Favs is in Boston, in his big, corporate house decorated by his mom, filled with plastic plants and hard leather sofas, writing speeches for investment bankers. And Lovett’s in Oregon, teaching the next generation of political speechwriters how to care about the issues without him.

Lovett shouldn’t have to do this alone. He doesn’t want to. 

And he can’t shake the thought that, if Favs were here, this campaign would feel a lot less like nostalgia and a lot more like the future.

"Jon?"

"Sorry, I’m- I’m really tired and I have a speech to write. You’re going to have to finish your commute without me."

"Okay," Tommy says, sobering. "I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry if I-"

"You didn’t," Lovett interrupts. "I’m fine. Good, even. You know how campaigns are."

"Yeah, course. Call me in the morning, yeah? I wanna know how the policy rewrites come along."

"Sure, sure. Yeah. I’ll do that." Lovett hangs up the phone, then realizes that he didn’t actually say goodbye.

Fuck politics. It’s never gotten him anywhere he’s wanted to go.

Which- is the biggest lie he’s ever told himself. But, he has a speech to write and a canister of instant coffee to drink, so he lets himself simmer in his self-delusion for a little longer.

***

"Your team did a nice job with the policy position bullets." Alyssa falls into the seat across from him, sliding a cup of coffee onto his piles of papers. "The Congresswoman is impressed. She wants to know how you did it."

"Hmm?" Lovett finishes his sentence, then looks at her over his laptop. "How I did 'it'?"

"Taught them how to write in just a few short days."

"Fire and brimstone. A few Wiccan spells. All above aboard in Oregon, I assure you, but probably not things you’d wanna repeat anywhere else." He shrugs. 

"What did you sacrifice?"

"In exchange for a few good speech writing interns?" Lovett blinks his eyes to emphasize the ditches growing under then.

When Lovett looks at Alyssa, really looks at her, she looks happy, younger than she’s looked the last few times Lovett has seen her since election day. 2016 wasn’t any kinder on her than it was on him. This campaign, though, seems to be doing wonders for her. Lovett wishes it was doing the same for him, but for all it’s like a balm to his soul, the circles under his eyes are just getting deeper and darker. He hadn’t even thought that was possible just a couple of weeks ago.

"Short days," He tells her. "No short days on the campaign trail anyway. The witches can have them."

"Fair trade, I’d say."

There’s commotion behind them and Lovett turns to see his team hunched around their table, howling with laughter. "Keep it down, you hyenas," he calls to them. He throws down his napkin. "Looks like I need to make another sacrifice or two."

"Start with that trademark sarcasm," Alyssa calls after him.

He raises his middle finger back at her as he heads over to the speechwriting table, Pundit following behind him. She jumps onto the seat next to Sasha and starts licking at the syrup dripping over the edge of the table. He leaves her to it.

"What are you doing?"

"Shh." Heidi waves her hand at him without looking up. "We’re getting our morning news hit."

Lovett doesn’t see a TV, a newspaper, or a computer opened to any number of news sites. He raises an eyebrow. "Wanna try that again?"

Heidi lets out a self-suffering sigh and pauses her phone, waving it at him. "I know it’s not something old people would understand, but it’s a podcast."

"I’m not old." Lovett puffs out his chest, trying to show off all the work he’s been putting in on his arms, with all the lifting of heavy documents he’s been doing. "And I’ll have you know that I used to make a podcast. Had quite a following."

"Why’d you stop?" Sasha asks as he rescues his plate from Pundit.

Lovett shrugs. "It was a political thing. Didn’t seem relevant after the election."

"That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard." Sam and Sasha gape at her, but Heidi just waves her phone again. "What? Podcasting has become the liberal talk radio that we’ve been trying to build for decades. Seems a little short-sighted to stop a podcast _after_ the election, when the Party needs it the most."

"Trust me, we weren’t the voices anyone needed. We-" Lovett shrugs. "We were just as smug and short-sighted as the rest of the liberal media. No one needs more of that."

Sam shakes her braids. "We need all the voices. We listen to, like, 15 political podcasts a week. I’ll send you a list."

"Sure." Lovett lifts Pundit so that he can slip into the booth under her. "You can finish listening later. For now, we have a speech to write."

He hands out his latest round of edits and launches into a grammar lesson on the improper use of split infinitives.

***

"The Congresswoman’s running a little behind. Take a seat." Body-woman Kam smiles at him, a nose ring glittering against her cheek.

Lovett nods, opening his phone to write a few more lines of the speech he has going in his notes app. 

Then he flips over to their group chat and, before he can think better of it, he types out, _ever regret canceling our podcast?_

And pauses over 'send.' 

He’ll never forget reacting to Pennsylvania and Wisconsin on air. He’ll never forget the way Tommy looked, stricken and lost, starring blankly at the camera. He’ll never forget Favs the next morning, packing up the studio as if ending the show was the only penance they could possibly make for pissing off the gods of liberal smugness or whatever the fuck sin Favs convinced himself that they had committed. The Ringer - which had once felt like the future of something - was a reminder of all they’d failed to do.

Lovett deletes the text and sends an exhausted selfie instead.

"Sorry I’ve kept you waiting. I’m Congresswoman Bryant."

Lovett shoves his phone into his back pocket and stands to shake her hand. "Jon Lovett, speech writer."

"I know who you are, Alyssa won’t shut up about you." She laughs. "And call me Anne."

"We’ll agree to disagree on that." He follows her into her office, sprawling in the chair across from her and handing over a folder. "It’s just a first draft, in terms of both language and policy."

She takes the folder, but doesn’t open it. "I don’t want to talk about the speech."

Lovett frowns. "No?"

The Congresswoman folds her arms on the desk and leans towards him. "Alyssa tells me that you are quite an under-used asset in the Democratic Party."

"Well," Lovett flushes a little. It’s been a long time since he’s heard something like that, in a political arena, at least. "I’m sort of retired from politics."

"I’ve heard. Spare me a moment to convince you otherwise, won’t you?"

"You have balls."

That surprises a laugh out of the Congresswoman. "So do you. Clearly."

Lovett shrugs, a challenge. "I like it."

"So do I." She smiles. "Now that you’ve been here for a few days, tell me, what do you think of my campaign? No need to roll punches."

Lovett crosses his legs. "Your team is young. Very young," he emphasizes with a little, self-deprecating laugh. "They’re smart and they’re passionate. They really care about you and your issues."

"But?"

"But, they’re coastal elites. Worse than that, they’re from _Oregon_ , and it’s obvious just by listening to them talk for five minutes."

"I’m from Oregon."

"Sure, which is why you’ve won every Oregon election you’ve ever run in. But, if I’m not mistaken, we’re not talking about another Oregon election, are we?"

She shakes her head, slowly.

"Right, so, here’s the thing. I was on Hilary Clinton’s campaign in 2008. I worked for President Obama in the White House. I am the poster boy for getting it wrong, and I’m not going to sit here and say that we need another Edwards-type moderate from the Heartland. Trump is President, everything’s fair game. But-" Lovett takes a deep breath, remembers what it was like to talk like this, honest and fair and impassioned, on radio every week. "We have a problem. As a country we’re more divided than ever, and as a Party we’ve done nothing to stop that. Just look at that electoral map, look at how red it is, and yet Hilary won the fucking popular vote. Our Party so coastal elite that we’ve forgotten there even is a middle of the country."

"So, you’re telling me to hire a campaign director from Wisconsin?"

"I’m telling you to take out the nose rings and talk to some people in Wisconsin."

"Stay local, but adapt to national sensibilities?"

"Stay authentic," Lovett agrees. "It’s the most important thing. And don’t trade Alyssa in for some third-rate party hack who happens to have been born on the prairie."

The Congresswoman laughs. "I never liked those books."

"I kinda did, actually."

Behind him, the door opens and Kam pokes her head in. "The Oregonian is on Line 2."

"The news cycle never ends," the Congresswoman tells him, apologetically. "If I could change one thing about the way we run politics in this country, it would pundits. And campaign donations. Two things."

Lovett laughs and stands. "I couldn't agree more."

***

"Lovett?" Kam calls.

Lovett holds up a finger, blindly pushing his glass under the spigot and praying to god that Diet Coke comes out. He’s coming off of two Skype lectures on differential equations and a grueling three-hour meeting with the policy team, and he has a stack of notes and three bright-eyed protégées waiting for him at their table in the Hilton restaurant-turned Bryant campaign war room. He needs to start mainlining Diet Coke.

He drinks the first glass in three quick sips, before filling it up again. "Yeah?"

"Congresswoman Bryant wants the new language on clean coal in half an hour and Alyssa’s asking for the Twitter policy roll-out plan."

"Coming right up," Lovett lies, juggling the papers in his hands so that he can carry them, his laptop, and the full glass. "I’ve just gotta- Never mind, you’re not even listening any more."

"Hey, I’ve got these." Sam takes the most perilous papers off the top of the stack and piles them into her arms. They’re tall enough to cover the freckles on her nose. "Busy day today."

"This is the fun part," Lovett warns her, "before it all gets real."

"Feels pretty real to me."

Lovett smiles to himself. "Always does, the first time."

"So," she readjusts her glasses with her shoulder, "this feeling goes away?"

Lovett pauses. "No, it, ahh, it always feels pretty incredible."

She smiles, small and shy behind the papers, and starts walking again. "You know, I downloaded your podcast. Keepin’ it 1600?"

Lovett groans.

"No, you shouldn’t- All those things you said, this morning, they weren’t- It was really good. I think you and your friends could be really good, you know? For the Party. Shame you stopped."

Lovett swallows. "Yeah, it was," he admits. It’s been almost twelve months now. It shouldn’t hurt so much to just _think_ about what they could have been.

***

"I sent you the latest draft," Lovett calls from the bathroom, where's he's taking out his contacts and editing the tax section of the speech at the same time.

"You have a lovely hotel wall, Lovett, but I don't really get why this had to be a Skype call."

"Because," Lovett comes back into view, falling into the chair in front of his computer, "I missed your beautiful face."

On screen, Favs frowns. "You look awful."

"Why, thanks. That's what every boy wants to hear after dolling out compliments."

"I'm serious. Tommy said you sounded tired, but-"

"I look awful, I know," Lovett finishes for him. "No need to repeat it."

Favs holds up his hands in defeat. "I don't miss it, that's all I'm saying."

Lovett pushes his glasses further onto his nose and folds his legs under him. "Did you find time in your busy day of latte drinking and getting your hair done to read the speech?"

"I did." Favs pulls his tablet into his lap. His laptop just picks up the top of his bent head. 

"And?"

"It's good." His voice is too high, too smooth.

"Bullshit."

"It is." Favs glances up and there's a little spot of pink on his cheeks betraying the part of him, however small, that is enjoying this. Or Lovett might just be projecting. "You have, what, twenty year olds writing this? It's great, considering."

"Fuck I've forgotten how condescending you can be in this environment."

"What? You asked for my opinion."

"So give it to me." Lovett forces his voice down. "Stop pussy-footing around the bush. 'It's great, considering.' I mean, honestly."

"Nice mixed metaphors." Favs leans forward. "It's good, seriously. Just get them to cut down the flowery language in the D section. I think I counted three 'awesome's before page 3. The Medicare numbers seem a little off- have the staff double-check those. And the ending- this isn't a high school pep rally. This is a possible forerunner of the Democratic Party announcing her attention to make waves. So, make waves."

Lovett's pretty sure he's grinning from ear to ear, all teeth and round cheeks, but, fuck, he can't look away.

"What?" Favs frowns. "Do I have spinach in my teeth? I did make Blue Apron today. Didn't even burn down the kitchen."

Lovett laughs. "How'd that feel?"

"Not burning down the kitchen?" Favs shrugs. "Pretty good. I put down a hefty security deposit on this place."

Lovett rolls his eyes. "Talking about the speech. How’d that feel?"

"Oh, that." Favs sobers. "I've done it enough times, but, good to know the old gears haven't entirely rusted out."

"Do you-" Lovett swallows, tries to gather all the thoughts that have been swirling around him for days, and tries again. "You said you don't miss it. Did you mean that? Like, not at all?"

Favs sighs. "Yes. No. I don't know? I haven't thought about it much."

Lovett knows Favs, know him better than he knows himself, most days. There is nothing Favs doesn’t think about from every angle.

"Maybe you should, I don’t know, think about it a little?"

"The speech?"

"Politics. Stop being obstinate." Lovett rubs at the back of his neck. At his feet, Pundit whines. "Pundit wants a walk. In the middle of the dark, Oregon night."

Favs laughs, a deep breath of relief. "Have fun with that."

"Oh, I won’t." Lovett grabs for Pundit’s leash and she jumps to her feet, tail wagging. "Thanks for the advice."

"Anytime," Favs says, automatically. Then, "well, not any time. Like, rarely. Stick to rarely."

Lovett laughs, "no take-backs," and closes his computer.

***

Lovett leaves Oregon with a speech he's pretty proud of, a speech writing team he trusts, and the kernel of an idea.

"You guys are all set here," he tells Alyssa, as she drives him to the airport. "I’ve whipped the team into shape. Give Heidi another month or two and she’ll make a great head speechwriter. I can’t be of much use here, and there’s other things I should be doing."

"'Things' as in-?"

"Impactful things," he promises, then, "once they’re out of my head and marching towards reality, you’ll be one of the first to know."

Alyssa’s eyes are bright and happy. "That’s all I was asking for."

"Sure, sure." He laughs, then pulls her in for a long hug. "Do good work out here."

She watches him walk towards security but, as he turns to wave, she’s already on her phone. He shakes his head. Oregon was good. Oregon was and is important. He has other places he needs to be.

And other things he needs to write. He settles himself and Pundit on the plane and opens his laptop to the NY Times editorial page.

***

**The New York Times  
Opinion** | Editorial

**Uranium Ryananium: The Right Wing Media and America’s Authoritarian Test**  
By L.E.O. | October 31, 2017

And then they came for Robert Mueller.

In the real world, Robert Mueller runs the special counsel appointed to investigate any possible link between the 2016 Trump presidential campaign and the Russian government. Mueller was appointment in an effort to placate Democrats and Republicans alike who were worried about the authoritarian message Trump sent in firing beleaguered FBI director James Comey. He was appointed when the country was worried about the erosion of checks on the executive branch. Even Newt Gingrich - repeat that slowly, Newt Gingrich - called Mueller a "superb choice to be special counsel."

Fast forward six months and it’s clear than even this small sense of bipartisan decency has fallen by the wayside. On Monday, Mueller made two important announcements: the indictment of former Trump campaign chairman Paul Manafort and a guilty plea by staffer George Papadopoulos. These are both Big Deals. They suggest collusion with foreign governments before, during, and after the Trump campaign, possibly his presidency. They would seem to suggest that dystopian cries of Russian shadow governments aren’t quite so far off as we had hoped.

And yet.

And yet, Russian collusion isn’t the largest threat to civil society over the last few days.

The 'mainstream' media is at a crossroads. To the left lies intelligent, nuanced reporting of presidential collusion with a foreign power bent on destabilizing democratic institutions around the world. To the right lies a fog of propaganda and conspiracy theories.

And look, I get it. Fox News plays a role in our current broken political system. Our President gets his news in bullet form from Fox & Friends every morning. Fox News and Breitbart whip up the Republican base and it’s easier and more politically successful, in the short term, for the Left to fall into that same trap. But when even Chris Wallace, who I’ve always had a great amount of respect for as a journalist, is spreading propaganda about collusion in the Clinton campaign to turn eyes away from Trump conspiracies, we have to admit that we are at a crisis point. 

This isn’t a legal question any more. This isn’t a Russia vs. Clinton story. This isn’t a question of a young, inexperienced Presidency suffering growing pains. This is a political question that has deep implications for the future of our democracy.

Last week, Senators Corker and Flake stood up in front of Congress and the press to question Trump’s fitness for office. They pledge to fight for the future of decency in our political system. If there was ever a time to stand up, it’s now. Your move, Congress.  
_______

174 Comments

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
Thoughtful piece, LEO, and you’re absolutely right. This is a political question. While he was laundering money through antique furniture store and being paid for the Ukrainian government, Paul Manafort was the campaign advisor for one of our two major parties. Like it or not, he was a political leader in this country. For the party that was elected. We can’t forget that.

**LEO** Boston  
Right. And we can’t forget that by attacking the Clinton campaign, they’re also attacking our law enforcement and intelligence agencies. Fundamental cogs in our political apparatus. After the DNC stopped paying for the dossier, the FBI picked up the tab and have been using the information to build a roadmap for this investigation. To say that the Clinton campaign is complicit in Russian collusion is to call into the question the FBI.

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
Thank you for putting those fears into the hearts of the American people. What’s scarier, destabilizing the FBI or the mainstream media?

**LEO** Boston  
We’re having this discussion on nytimes.com, so I’m going to take the high road and stand behind the mainstream media.

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
Besides, the dossier actually has nothing to do with why Manafort and Papadopoulos are in trouble. Their trespasses have nothing to do with the Trump pee video. Or, at least, we can hope not. And any effort to conflate the two is a deplorable attempt by a good deal of the media in this country to save the President of the United States from these charges through the spread of purposefully deceptive propaganda.

**LEO** Boston  
Isn’t that the very definition of propaganda?

**LOLI** Los Angeles  
Touché


	5. Chapter 5

"You're Zach?"

"Yeah." He holds out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Professor Lovett."

"I hear you're very good. I hope you don't disappoint."

"I hear you're very demanding," Zach parrots. "I hope you're satisfied with my work."

"Um." Lovett looks around the small editing bay, with no windows and no light except for the blue glow of the computer. It's- intimate, in a way Lovett has no intention of exploiting. He shudders, and decides not to fall into the extra swivel chair, as he had planned. "So, this just got weird. I think I should pay you? Yeah, I think that would be- good. Appropriate." He digs into his pockets. "Would $20 be enough? It's all I have. How long does it take to edit a podcast?"

Zach shrugs. "A couple hours. $20 is fine."

Lovett hands over the money and a USB stick. "There's a lot of crap on here that you'll have to edit out."

"No problem."

Lovett pauses, not sure what to do with his hands. He shoves them into his pockets. "You should, ahh, value your labor more. $10 an hour isn't even minimum wage."

Zach shrugs, already plugging in the USB stick and pulling up his editing software. "I'm a student in the arts. I take what I can get."

"Well." Lovett pauses, then shakes himself. "I'll leave you to it, then."

Zach hums without turning around, and Lovett hightails it out of the editing suites.

Pundit's waiting for him at the door, growling at passing students in the hallway. "I could have used those protection instincts in there," Lovett chastises her. She barks happily. "Yeah, yeah, I could use some fresh air, too. Let's go outside and call Tommy."

***

Lovett releases the podcast three days before Tommy and Favs are scheduled to arrive in LA.

It's a good podcast, but it's not great. Zach worked magic, but he could only do so much with source material that was recorded, secretly, in Favs' living room, with the clinking of glasses and rustling of food containers and the non-sequiturs. They jump around a lot, too, like a normal, unplanned and un-outlined conversation. 

It was never meant to be a full, comprehensive, linear discussion of the issues. Still, it's a decent, if a bit dated, policy debate. And it's a good example of what Lovett wants to make - a raw, honest, nuanced discussion of real issues in language that every day people can understand. He doesn't know a whole lot about business, but he does know that that would make a good mission statement.

So, he posts it to their long-dead Keepin’ it 1600 thread and sits back to watch what happens.

***

"Before I let you go, just some housekeeping. You have an exam next Thursday. That's exactly ten days from today, people. Please study. I can assure you that it will not be an easy one.

"Also, your proofs are due _before_ class on Tuesday. I won't be accepting any 'my dog ate my homework' excuses. We're living in the 21st century. Save your fucking work.

"And remember, there's no class on Thursday, but if you want extra credit I'll be hosting a panel on the use of statistics in political campaigns. That’s Thursday night, 7pm, Beckman auditorium. Make sure you sign-in or I won't know to give you credit for showing up.

"Finally, if you have any questions on any of this, please come see me after class. I have some VIPs coming in from out of town and I won't be attached to my email like you're used to me being. I'll be very upset if I have to pause my margarita drinking this weekend to answer a question about margin sizes. All good?"

There's silence, then a hand raises.

"Yes, Saroshi?"

"What size should our margins be?"

The class laughs. Lovett mock glares at them. "Get outta here, all of you. And one inch all around. Don't be animals."

The room is filled with backpacks zipping and desks scraping, and Lovett turns to erase the six blackboards he filled during his lecture. He pretends to be engrossed in his task as his students shuffle past, whispering amongst themselves about lunch dates and date-dates and study groups. He perks up when he hears his name.

"Did you listen to Professor Lovett's new podcast?"

"Yes, oh my God, I could listen to that every week. So informative. And funny."

"Who knew politics could be so fun?"

"Who were those other guys, though?"

"Obama speech writers, I think. You know, Professor Lovett was a speechwriter?"

"Seems a bit like a step down, no? To math professor?"

"I don't know, would you wanna be writing speeches for President Cheeto?"

"Ugh, no thank you."

"Anyway, so I went back and listened to some of the old podcasts. They were all really good. I wonder why he doesn’t make them anymore?"

"I don't know. You could ask?"

"Haha, that's funny."

"Hilarious."

"Wanna meet up on Monday, do a little studying? I have the feeling this test is going to be fucking hard."

"Yeah, sure."

"Professor Lovett? Professor?"

It takes Lovett a moment to realize that this call is actually at him, not just about him. "Yeah, I'm listening."

"Can you describe Ring equations again? I got a little lost during that lecture, and-"

"Sure, sure." He turns back to the chalkboard, knowing his face is a little flushed. His chest feels warm and happy as he starts drawing out Ring equations.

***

Lovett's nervous when he gets to LAX. The podcast may be getting rave reviews from his students and more than a few downloads on iTunes, but he didn't exactly ask Tommy and Favs beforehand. Didn’t ask them if he could post it under their old Keepin' it 1600 brand. Probably more importantly, he didn’t ask if he could record them in the first place, or post what they said without editorial approval. He just broadcast a somewhat drunken conversation in Favs' living room to the entire world.

Lovett would be pissed if he was in their shoes and he won’t begrudge them whatever anger they have.

At his feet, Pundit growls at a middle-aged man passing with a half-eaten burrito in his hands. Lovett shushes her, even though he wouldn't say no to a burrito right now, either. 

She's feeding off his energy, restless and anxious as she twists her leash around his ankles until he squats down to free her. She rests her front paws on his knees, only settling when he nuzzles her neck, leaning in close. "It'll be okay, girl," he promises.

She side-eyes him.

He sighs, fidgeting with her ears. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I shouldn't make promises I can't keep."

She barks. He shushes her again.

"I see your dog's as out of control as always."

"Tommy." Lovett looks up to see Tommy standing over him. He's been in San Francisco for a few days for UN meetings, so he's arrived in LA a lot less jet lagged, although no less sleep deprived, than he might have been. Lovett can see it in the corners of his eyes, wrinkled and squinting, still flecked with sleep dust no matter how often Tommy rubs it off. 

Lovett misses seeing him like this, rumpled and loose. He’s so different early in the morning and late at night, before he’s put on his best New England day face. Lovett used to get him like this, all the time, when they shared a house and Tommy slept down the hall, and Lovett would so often wake him up by climbing into his bed with a warm cup of coffee. Lovett misses those mornings. Lovett just misses real life Tommy, rather than phone Tommy, being a permanent fixture in his everyday routine.

He stands up, twisting out of Pundit's leash so that Tommy can wrap him in a long, steady hug.

"I've missed you," is all Lovett admits into Tommy's neck. The rest of it seems too much. For now.

"I doubt that," Tommy scoffs into Lovett's curls. "You’ve been a bit busy."

Lovett shrugs, his shoulders catching on Tommy’s t-shirt. "Ehh, writing speeches for the next Presidential candidate, teaching Abstract Algebra, writing a dissertation- all in a day's work."

"Humble, as always."

Lovett pulls his head out of Tommy's neck to see Favs, grinning at them with his bag slung over his shoulder and Leo shaking with a transcontinental flight's worth of energy at his feet. Leo meets Pundit halfway, their tails wagging and their ears perked as they fall, happily, into a pile on the floor of the LAX arrival halls.

Lovett grins, even as he envies their easy reconciliation. He wants to go to Favs with the same effortless, uncomplicated joy. He wants to wag his tail and nuzzle his nose and- maybe the metaphor has gone a little far. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Over the last year, nothing with Favs can be described as effortless or uncomplicated. 

Lovett settles for a one-armed hug instead, and then he squats down to give Leo all the attention he wishes he could give Favs. "Hey, buddy." He scratches behind Leo's ears and lets him lick his face. "Pundit and I are glad you're here. How was your flight?"

"Are you asking Leo or me?"

Lovett scoffs. "Leo, of course. I know how your flight was. Your flight is always terrible."

"I'm really feeling the love right now. Glad we made the trip." He's grinning, though, and Lovett pushes Leo's front paws off his knees as he rises.

"This is a work trip," he reminds them. "I didn't give you much of a choice."

"Right. There's that." Favs laughs, taking Leo's leash from Lovett and already starting towards the parking lot. "Speaking of, I spent most of my flight studying up on statistics, so, thank you for that. Now, I'm hungry and my body's still on East Coast time."

"I figured." Lovett rolls his eyes and falls into step beside Tommy. "We're going to get tacos - real, LA tacos - but there's Taco Bell in the car to hold you over."

"What a host you’ve become."

Lovett raises an eyebrow. "Self-preservation, I assure you. I know what you're both like when you're hangry."

Favs straightens his shoulders, patting his stomach where his shirt is riding up. "I'm a big guy. I've got needs."

"Fuck." Lovett closes his eyes, trusting Tommy to lead him safely across the street. "Am I really supposed to just leave that hanging there?"

Tommy shrugs. "It's in the dirt, now."

"Swing and a miss," Favs singsongs as he stops next to Lovett's car, waiting for him to open it.

"Those are sports metaphors of some kind, aren't they?"

"Baseball."

"Right, right. I knew it was something with balls." He rounds the 'b' out with a pop, as he unlocks the car and ducks into the driver's seat.

Tommy laughs. Favs settles into the back, sitting in the middle seat so their dogs can spread out, half on the seats next to him, half in his lap.

Lovett throws paper bags at both their chests and starts the ignition. "Eat your fast food tacos, you heathens."

***

"Thank you all for coming to a panel about math and politics on a Thursday night. Don't you have better things to do? I definitely had better options when I was in college."

Tommy interrupts him. "No you didn't."

Lovett shrugs. "Yeah, I didn't. Also, I'm offering them extra credit, so, them being here isn't, like, entirely of their own volition."

"I never dreamed to think otherwise," Favs says.

"My former boss, ladies and gentleman. Imagine what it was like to work like this in _the White House_."

Favs shrugs. "Had to keep you on your toes. And you still managed to roll in at 10 am in jeans and Nikes."

"Suits are for the afternoon. You knew the rules before you hired me."

"Did I?" Favs tilts his head, squinting at Lovett the way he used to. Easy and affectionate, mouth crinkling at the corners like this smile is just the precursor to something bigger and all encompassing.

Lovett shrugs at him, exaggerated enough for the crowd to see it. "Not my fault if you didn't read my resume all the way to its thrilling conclusion."

"It was 14 pages!"

Lovett laughs. "Don't listen to that, guys. Resumes should be one page, max. You get a second page after you've done 10 years of work. And, no, week-long internships at the school paper do not count as real work."

His students are laughing. They're taking pictures, they're making notes; they're loving this. His whole body feels warm.

"Anyway," Favs says, drawing it out to its full three syllables. "We're not here to chastise the students, we're here to teach them something."

"Right. Cool, cool, cool, cool." Lovett bounces in his seat. It feels wonderful to be up here, bouncing off Favs and Tommy just like they used to in the Ringer studio, this time in front of a live studio audience. "We're here to talk about the 2016 election."

His students boo and hiss. He waves them away.

"You know, when you hiss like that, it's hard to know if you're hissing at me or at the subject matter. I don't appreciate the ambiguity."

"Nuance, not Lovett's thing." Tommy frowns, commiserating with the audience.

"It makes me anxious." Lovett gives an exaggerated frown, before continuing. "So, the pollsters got it kinda wrong in 2016."

"Ya think?" Favs agrees. 

"Wrong as wrong can be," Tommy adds. 

"And thank you for those embellishments. They really added something to this conversation." Lovett rolls his eyes, but he's grinning. "Let's walk them through it. What went wrong, Jon?"

"It's not- a lot of things went wrong in last year's election. From the choice of candidate, to the way the news covered - or didn't cover - the issues, to the pundits and pollsters and prediction models which, almost to a one, predicted that Hillary Clinton would win. Even we," Favs spreads his hand to encompass all three of them, "gave rosy predictions and made promises based on bad assumptions that we didn't stop long enough to interrogate."

"Yeah, I think that's a very good point." Tommy leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Look, I feel misled by the predictions, too. And what I regret most is convincing myself that she was going to win in a landslide. If I learned anything in 2016, it's that making assumptions, and taking others' assumptions at face value, is dangerous."

Favs laughs a little nervously. "One we won't make again."

"Okay, okay, this has taken a maudlin turn," Lovett jumps in, before they lose all the good humor they’ve gained with his students. "I'm not interested in rehashing something that happened twelve months ago, unless we're going to talk about ways we, as citizens and as mathematicians, can learn and change the way we talk about polls and prediction modeling in the future. So, obviously, we're going to be talking about and debating this for years to come. We don't have all the answers. But, we have some of them. Let's start with the easy one: they weren't wrong."

Favs laughs, and he uncoils his back a little, so he's no longer hunching in on himself, shielding himself from an attack - from Lovett and Tommy, from the students, from his own memories, Lovett isn't quite sure. "We tend to forget that, don't we? So, here's the thing. Hillary Clinton won the popular vote by almost 3 million votes. That's significant, and it isn't all that far off from what most of the polls were predicting. The problem was with the Electoral College-"

"Do you guys know what the Electoral College is?" Lovett interrupts, turning to the students. There's a swell of conversation, and Lovett raises his finger to his lips to shut them up, before turning to Tommy. "They're math students, they sleep through their poli sci courses. Tommy, fill them in."

"The Electoral College is a centuries-old menace. When you're voting on election day, you're actually voting for a candidate's electoral college representatives."

"Wait," Daniel calls from the front row. "We're not actually voting for a candidate?"

"Raise your hand, Daniel. You're embarrassing me in front of my friends," Lovett chastises.

Daniel raises his hand. Tommy laughs. "You're not. But in most states, your electoral college representatives are required by law to vote for the candidate chosen by your state's popular vote. Each state gets a certain number of electoral college delegates, and they choose the president in December."

"This is why," Favs adds, eyeing the crowd pointedly, "your Democratic votes in California matter less than, say, Democratic votes in swing states like Wisconsin or Pennsylvania. California's going to go blue, it always does, and while running up the score is good for the popular vote, it doesn't actually win elections. So, when you graduate, move to Florida or Michigan."

"Or stay here and vote me Senator of California," Lovett offers. "Just, you know, as an alternative."

"Not helpful," Favs chastises.

"Neither is the Electoral College."

Favs nods at him. "Got me there."

Lovett grins at him as he leans forward, dipping his chair onto its front two legs. "Okay, so, Electoral College: bad. Got it. So why were polls good at predicting the popular vote but not the Electoral College vote?"

"It's easier to poll for the popular vote than the Electoral College," Tommy jumps in. "The popular vote is decided on a national level, so the margin of error is smaller and it's easier to find the representative sample that they need for accurate predictions. It's hard to do that on the State level."

Lovett crosses his legs. "And why is that?"

"I don't know, Lovett. You're the math professor. Why don't you tell us?" Favs crosses his arms and stares him down.

On Lovett's other side, Tommy is laughing so hard he's holding his side. It's distracting.

Lovett takes a deep breath. "Tommy's right. It's difficult to get proper sample sizes on the State and local level, so a lot of predictions on that granularity are done with statistical modeling rather than representative polling. But statistical power is only as good as the model behind it. If there's misrepresentation in the sample, or if the weights are off, then so is the model."

"Like with non-College educated white people."

"Exactly." Lovett shoves his hands under his legs. He feels on level footing here, talking about statistics, sitting between Tommy and Favs, like he should be, basking under his students" rapt attention. He wants this, for as long as they’ll let him have it. "A lot of modeling is based on demographics. Meaning that if you're a Millennial black woman, you're probably going to vote Democrat. Non-college educated whites have never, historically, voted as a bloc. Therefore, education level hasn't been a traditional demographic indicator of voting like age, gender, and race, so its voting blocs weren’t predicted correctly."

Favs raises an eyebrow. "It certainly will be a demo now."

"It's hard to measure, though." Tommy scrunches his nose.. "It's much easier to get educated people to pick up the phone and tell the truth when pollsters call. Uneducated people tend to mistrust pollsters and, therefore, will lie when they call. So, in 2016, college graduates were overrepresented in the sample."

"Yep. It's called nonresponse bias and we talked about it in class last week. They should all-" Lovett points out into the crowd. "- know exactly what you're talking about."

"My question, for either of you, is how we fix these problems. If the model is wrong based on bad assumptions, how do we change those assumptions?" Tommy looks genuinely interested in their answers, leaning forward, face still flushed from his earlier laughter.

"First of all, we have to stop basing the models on pure assumptions," Lovett shakes his head. "Currently, we do a census every 10 years. We have elections every 4, and to make up for the growing distance between the census and reality, we base a lot of political modeling on the way the last election shook out. that's dangerously inadequate. It there's a huge shift in the country in those 4 or 10 years, as there was in 2016, than the models miss it completely. We have to do a much better job of tracking those changes and adapting the statistical models accordingly."

"Definitely," Favs agrees. "It's also important to remember that polls provide numbers, but people aren't as easy as numbers. People change their minds, people think they're going to go to the polls but then the baby gets sick or their car goes down and they don't make it. People are susceptible to groundswells of enthusiasm and groupthink. These are important psychological factors that we need to start incorporating into these statistical models."

"Favs has just written the description for my course next semester, Behavioral Mathematics. You all better sign-up." Lovett grins at the crowd. "I want to thank our great panelists, Jon Favreau and Tommy Vietor. They’ve graciously provided their emails, so if anyone has any further questions, please feel free to contact them. And thank you all for coming - make sure you sign the sheet on the way out so I know you were here. Good night."

Tommy takes off his mic and turns to them. "That was fun," he admits, grin splitting his face, like he's surprised at himself.

"You know," Favs says, smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, too. "It kind of was."

All in all, Lovett's going to say this was a resounding success.

***

"Entertain me." Lovett falls face first onto the bed in his second guest room.

Tommy doesn't look up from his book. "I'm reading."

He looks relaxed, his long legs spread out in front of him, crossed at his ankles. Lovett can imagine him spending his evenings in here, reading books while Lovett and Favs read through Twitter, all three twisted together on this bed. 

Lovett let's out a deep sigh and buries his head in the comforter. "Fine, fine, let your host whither away out of boredom. It's fine."

Tommy reads for a few more minutes, then folds over the page he's on and sets the book down. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

Lovett nods at the book. "Better not let Favs see that."

"Favs reads, like, two books a year. He doesn't have a leg to stand on." Tommy bends his knees, flexing his bare toes against the comforter. "Stop avoiding the question."

Lovett sighs, pillowing his head on his hands. "I'm fine."

"You're not." Tommy frowns, reaching out. He pauses, like he's not sure he's allowed, but then he twists his fingers into Lovett's curls. "You’ve been anxious since we got here. I can read the signs."

Lovett's eyes are itching. He should really get up and take his contacts out, but Tommy's here and Tommy's touching him and he has things he needs to say. “Hey, just, out of curiosity- How, ahh, how attached are you to Brussels?”

Tommy's fingers don't flinch. He does keep his voice low, so they don’t disturb Favs, who’s napping in the other guest room. "I don't have a girlfriend, if that's what you're trying to not-so-subtlely ask."

"It's not." Lovett says, too quickly. He tilts his head into Tommy's hand. "It's good to know, though."

Tommy flushes, all the way down his neck and under his shirt collar. His freckles stand out in stark contrast to his pink skin, and Lovett lets himself count them for a moment.

"The job, though." He pushes, finally. "You're committed to that?"

"The UN?" Tommy shrugs. "Sure. I mean, it's important work. I'm getting good experience and it feels good to be doing something."

"Right, right."

"Why?" Tommy asks, as casually as he's ever asked anything, his fingers still working at Lovett's scalp. "You have a better offer?"

Lovett closes his eyes. "Maybe."

"You'll tell me when you're sure?"

"Yeah," Lovett says, then, "tonight. Probably tonight."

"Okay," Tommy agrees, quietly. 

"Hey, assholes." Lovett opens his eyes to see Favs leaning in the doorway, all his weight resting on one arm. "Dinner?"

"Hey," Tommy greets him, just as softly as he's been speaking to Lovett. He pats the space between them. "There's room for three."

Favs doesn't move, his muscles tensing against the thin fabric of his t-shirt. For one intoxicating moment, Lovett thinks he’s going to join them, spread himself out between them like he belongs there. Like he’s planning on staying there. So that Lovett can fulfill every childhood dream he ever had of having his best friend just like this, like everything.

Favs pauses, though, and Lovett’s pretty sure that he’s going to be rejected tonight, in the biggest thing he’s ever asked of them, and he’s not sure he can handle a second rejection right now. "So," he says, offering Favs an out. He sits up, pointing an accusing finger at both of them. "Sushi tonight. The place is fancy. I expect you both to dress up and be on your best behavior.

"Pot, kettle." Favs smiles, so gratefully that Lovett's stomach flips unhappily.

He pushes himself off the bed. "Living room, thirty minutes. I call dibs on the first shower."

He doesn’t look at Favs as he passes.

***

Lovett takes them to a hole in the wall he's discovered a few blocks from his place. It's expensive, but he's been planning this meal for weeks and he doesn't want to get derailed by Favs' fish snobbery or Tommy’s bragging about eating better eel with Shinzō Abe in Tokyo. Lovett’s done his homework. 

He's nervous, and after his conversation with Tommy earlier in the day, he's sure it's showing. He wipes his hands on his favorite pants. “So, they buy their fish fresh daily. What they can't get from the Pacific, they have flown in, straight from whatever ocean it comes from.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow, but breaks off his chopsticks so he can snag a piece of starter sashimi. "You know an awful lot about their fishing practices for a man who would be just as happy at KFC as Ding Tai Fung."

"I know good food," Lovett argues. "I just don’t care enough, normally."

Tommy hums.

Lovett shrugs. "Also, I did some research when I knew you were coming. You're both geeks about this kinda stuff, and they don’t sell fish like this in Boston or Brussels, so I thought, while you’re here-" He shrugs, letting himself trail off. 

"Sustainable fishing practices?" Favs takes a measured sip of his sake. "Yeah, I'll admit to being a geek about that."

"Exactly. I didn't wanna, like, poison my guests."

"I really wish you'd stop calling us that." Tommy frowns, picking at the fried bits of a prawn head with his chopsticks. His phone rings and he silences it. "We're not guests. We're-" He trips over whatever word he wants to use. _Brothers, partners, everything_. Lovett wishes which one.

"Yeah, well, about that-"

Tommy's phone rings again, and he frowns at it. "Sorry, that's three times now, I should probably-" He stands, answering his phone, "Tommy Vietor here," as he squeezes by them take the call outside.

It's a small restaurant and there's a line around the block waiting to get in. Lovett looks at the sushi bar longingly. "There's a Chinese takeout place around the corner. We could watch Bridesmaids while Tommy solves world peace or whatever."

"Yeah," Favs agrees, looking around just as longingly. The couple next to them are getting their third course - bluefin with a pinch of sea salt. Lovett can't believe he was about to make a pitch for giving all this up so that they, like Tommy, can live and die with the 24 hour news cycle.

As they push back their chairs, though, he wishes that it was him on the phone. He wants this, again. His whole body aches for it. 

He gets up to find their waitress and pay their bill.

***

Tommy's up most of the night in his room, on a secure line to the UN. Lovett brings him a beer and a container of sesame chicken round about midnight, in the break between Bridesmaids and the beginning of their Alien marathon.

Favs lasts through the first fifteen minutes of Aliens, before passing out with his head on a pillow by Lovett's thigh. His mouth is open and the gel has rubbed out of his hair so it's soft and fluffed. His shirt is hanging loose off his shoulder and he's curled around himself, his whole body oriented around Lovett’s. 

Lovett doesn't have to close his eyes to remember the last time they were in this position. Favs mouth warm and soft against his, his hands so self-assured on Lovett's hips, open and willing and his, even if for just a short moment. It was almost exactly a year ago, now. 

Lovett wants to touch him again.

Instead, he pulls himself off the couch and both Leo and Pundit raise their heads excitedly. He sighs, reaching for their leashes. 

Even Los Angeles is cold at almost three am in mid-November. The palm trees are blowing in the brisk breeze, and Lovett pushes his hands deeper into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, hunching his shoulders inwards. The streets are mostly quiet, but Lovett doesn't trust the dogs enough - Leo, he doesn't trust Leo, Pundit knows who feeds her, thank you very much - to let them off the leash. So after their walk, he stands in the front yard as they wrestle out any pent-up energy they have from a full day spent inside. 

Watching them, Lovett feels soft, in a way he hasn't felt since last November. Like, maybe, this is it for him. Like, maybe, this is enough. Los Angeles feels different when Tommy and Favs are here. The city feels good, like home, finally, after almost five years of living here. But it’s not the city; it’s Tommy and Favs, who are the missing pieces in the "it gets better" life he's been promised since he was a pre-teen, and has been trying to build throughout his entire adult life.

Leo rises onto his back legs, pushing at Lovett's thighs. Next to him, Pundit whines.

"Yeah, yeah," Lovett agrees. "I was getting a little maudlin for me, too."

He brings them inside and fills their water bowls. He pauses next to the couch, where Favs has rolled onto his side, spreading into the warm spot Lovett left behind. Lovett squeezes in next to him, and the dogs follow.

From the guest bedroom, he can hear the low, calming sound of Tommy arguing about Zimbabwe.

Lovett has never wanted anything as much as he doesn't want this night to end.

He drifts off halfway through Aliens 3.

***

They're all pretty groggy the next morning.

Lovett stands in the kitchen in boxers and an oversized hoodie he stole from Tommy's suitcase, resting one bare foot on his calf so that at least one of his feet is warm, while he waits for the Keurig to finish their coffees.

"It's so slow," he grouses.

Favs throws a pair of socks at his chest. They're thick and cabled and Lovett hops a little as he puts them on.

Favs falls onto a stool, pillowing his head on his hands. "We could just go back to sleep," he suggests, voice still crusted with sleep.

"Tommy's flight leaves at some ungodly early hour-"

"5pm is not 'ungodly early.'"

"It is if we want to hike up to the Griffith Observatory."

Favs twists his neck so he can glare at Lovett without raising his head. "That problem is easily solved if we don't _want_ to hike up to the Griffith Observatory."

"Hush your nonsense." Lovett slides Favs' coffee onto the table in front of him and cuffs the back of his head. "Of course we want to."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot the royal 'we.'" He rolls his eyes, raising his head for just long enough to grab the mg and bring it back into his arm-circle.

"Drink your coffee," Lovett orders, taking his own and heading down the hallway. He calls behind him, "so you'll be in a better mood by the time I'm out of the shower."

Favs raises his middle finger behind his back, without lifting his head.

***

On the way to the Observatory, Lovett buys them huge fried shrimp burritos with giant scoops of guacamole and a couple rounds of beers, and it helps. Even Tommy, who has an actual reason to be tired beyond falling asleep on the couch, is mostly awake behind the thick reflection of his sunglasses.

Favs is awake enough to be regaling them with stories but tired enough to make them pissy.

They're mostly stories about work, and Lovett's trying to pay attention, he really is, but in reality he’s tuning in and out. Part of his brain's on Pundit, who he's let off her leash but only half-trusts not to accidentally walk off the side of the mountain. The other part - the bulk of the parts, really - is on the podcast and the dreams he's been building for them all without actually telling them. After last night’s sushi-no-sushi debacle, he only has a few hours left to bring them in on his plan.

So, when Favs says, "no, no, no, it's the clients. The clients are _so_ stupid," Lovett thinks about saying _well, Jon, how would you like to never talk to clients again? I have some ideas_.

When Favs says, "my boss, man, he's a dolt. Can't find an intelligent thing to say about- well, anything. And I'm pretty sure he's been pulling his dick out at the Christmas party since the '60s. Someone needs to tell him times have changed," Lovett thinks about asking _have you ever thought of being your own boss?_. 

What he actually says is, “hey, man, that is so not okay I think that someone should be you."

When Favs says, "there's this girl in accounting, keeps asking me about that picture, you know?, from years ago. The shirtless one. Anyway, she doesn't have any actual interest, but she stares. A lot. It's distracting. In a bad way," Lovett wants to say, _god, please tell me you didn't bang her_ , but Tommy beats him to it.

Then Favs says, "I don't know. I'm making good money, but, like, I've sold my soul to do it. Never thought I’d be saying that's a deal worth making, but-" and shrugs his shoulders, casual and easy, like a deal’s a deal and he's resigned to make it, over and over again, for the rest of his life.

And Lovett snaps.

"Fuck, Jon, do you hear yourself?"

Favs trips, the toe of his fashion sneakers catching in a sandy pothole on the well-beaten path. Tommy’s entire body stills, his shoulders tightening so quickly that Lovett can feel it.

Lovett ignores them both. "You sound goddamned miserable. Don't you hear yourself? Can’t you hear how miserable you are? Or are you resigned to wallowing in self-pity for the rest of your life?"

"Hey, I’m all ears if you have other suggestions." Favs raises his arms wide, shrugging with his entire body. He’s become so use to acquiescing that he’s forgotten every bit of agency he lived the first thirty-four years of his life with.

Lovett hates seeing him like this. He can’t do it anymore. He bites at his bottom lip. "Yeah, I do." 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Tommy, tense and curious, his head tilted sideways. He's hanging on Lovett's every word, watching his every breath with so much anticipation. And Lovett realizes, in an instant, that Tommy’s waiting on him the way he’s been waiting on Favs. It’s Tommy, in the end, who’s been waiting on both of them to get their shit together. And, while Lovett’s been waiting a couple of months, Tommy’s been waiting over a year and- Fuck.

Lovett takes a deep, steadying breath. "Try, I don’t know, doing something you actually care about." Favs flinches. "Like the Panel this week. You _loved_ doing that. Your whole body lit up on that stage."

"Something I care about?," Favs says, slowly. "Live recording podcasts and posting them without our knowledge?"

Lovett's been waiting for him to bring it up all week, and it’s almost a relief to have it out in the open, finally. 

"Like," he counters, just as slowly, "writing editorials for the New York Times and debating them with me from behind the safety of a pseudonym."

Favs stops in his tracks. Leo twists around his ankles and Favs drops his leash, letting him run. "You-?"

"Yeah. I'm LOLI."

"And you-?"

"Knew it was you? Yeah, I used my great powers of deduction to figure that out." Lovett rolls his eyes. "Come on. I've been writing with you for a decade. I knew it was you from the first fucking sentence. Asshole."

Tommy waits until it's clear that Favs is too flustered to respond immediately before asking, “LOLI?”

Lovett glances at him quickly. “It's the handle I've been using to debate politics with Jon.”

“The editorials were anonymous,” Favs explains further, half for Tommy's benefit, half for Lovett's. “They were supposed to be private.”

“It was the editorial page of the New York Fucking Times.” Lovett hops in place a little. He can feel himself flush with months of pent-up frustration and anger and exasperation.

“Aww,” Tommy says, as if that cleared anything up at all.

“I was using a pseudonym.” Favs' eyes narrow. “You shouldn’t have been reading them.”

"I didn’t know it was you when I started." Lovett feels exhausted, and they’ve barely started this fight. He feels a little of his anger slip into sadness, and he lets it go. "And when I realized it was you-" He shrugs. "I just miss talking to you about all this okay? It’s been such a bad year and if you weren’t going to talk to me about it in private then, well, the editorial page of the New York Times it was."

Favs glances down, scuffing his shoes until they’re grey with sand. There are tourists passing them in a continuous stream, pointing at the Hollywood sign barely visible in the distance, speaking Mandarin and Spanish and German. Lovett only has eyes for Favs and Tommy, though, so he sees the moment that Favs deflates.

He smiles, just a little, more sadly than anything else. "Not having you here to go through this year with me- it’s been really fucking hard."

"I don’t know what you think I’d be able to do. The world is shit and there’s nothing I, or any of us, can do to stop it." Favs motions to the world around them. The ocean glittering in the distance, the city spread vast and polluted and glittering below them, the rest of the country, stretching out farther than their eyes can see. "We tried, but it didn’t matter. I’ve never- I cared too much, and it didn’t fucking matter. We tried and we failed and I, for one, have to move on."

“That’s fucking bullshit.” Favs scoffs, but Lovett cuts him off. “No, seriously. Your cynicism is cute, but it’s not you. I know the world is shit right now. I know it feels like there's not much we can do. I felt that way, too, but in Oregon- Jesus, Jon, there’s so much energy on the ground. People are paying attention, for the first time in our lifetimes, and they think - they really think - that they can make a difference. Regular, everyday, normal people. It’s what we’ve always wanted, and we’re just sitting on the sidelines, watching this moment pass us by."

Favs opens his mouth, but Tommy jumps in before Favs can argue back. "Just for argument's sake, what's your plan? I assume you have one."

"Of course I have one." Lovett scoffs. Then takes a deep, steadying breath. “A podcast company.”

“"A podcast company"?” Favs parrots.

“Huh,” is all Tommy says.

"No, wait, hear me out before you tell me what a stupid idea this is. God, this went so much better in my head, when I was gonna do it last night, when I bribed you with expensive sushi." Lovett chuckles. Neither Favs nor Tommy join him. "Anyway. So, we all wanna do something, right? But we don't want to run a campaign again and we don't want to move back to Washington.”

“That is not on the table," Tommy agrees.

“Right.” Lovett throws him a small, unsteady smile, and is relieved when he returns it, just a little, just a little twitch of his lips, but a smile none-the-less. “And we've been saying for years that cable news is destroying our democracy. Now, the right has Breitbart and Russian-run Facebook and practically-nationalized-broadcaster Fox News. What does the left have? Huff Po and Rachel Maddow, who has had the audacity to come out and still have a show on MSNBC, so we call her a progressive news person."

Tommy does chuckle a little, this time.

"This- progressive talk radio- this is something we," Lovett circles his hand to encompass all three of them, “can do. We’ve done it before and we’re fucking good at it. The Party needs us. We can do this." He takes a deep breath. "But it needs to be all of us. I don’t know how to make this work if we’re not all in."

Tommy looks at Favs. Lovett does, too.

Favs digs his hands deep into his pockets, curling his shoulders in and keeping his head down against the bright winter sun. “I don't know," he whispers. "I don't know that I have it in me to care like that again and lose. It almost broke me the last time.”

“It didn't, though,” Tommy says, softly, just above the murmur of the tourists around them.

“Tommy's right. You're still here. And Tommy and I, we're still here, too, if you'd just open your eyes and see us.”

"Don’t-" Favs shakes his head, raising his voice again.

Lovett’s already kicking himself for saying exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time. His specialty.

"This isn’t fair." Favs is still shaking his head. "You act - both of you act - like I’m the one who left first. Tommy, you couldn’t wait five minutes to jump a plane for Brussels. And Jon- You know, I may be writing corporate speeches for a hedge fund, but you’re hiding away in the fucking Ivory Tower. That great, clichéd bastion where progressive ideals go to die."

"I’m sorry." Lovett takes a step forward. He keeps his voice steady and low. "I never apologized and I never told you- I know what a stupid decision it was. I was just in such a bad place and I need a change and- I’m sorry I even considered selling the house. I knew it was the wrong choice the night I told you about it."

Favs closes his eyes. Lovett would bet his entire bank account that Favs is remembering that night, just like Lovett is.

“But," Lovett continues, "don't give up on this company because I made one stupid decision. News flash, I'm going to make a lot more of them in the coming months.”

Favs shakes his head.

"I can’t-" Lovett blinks his eyes, against the sun, against the memories, against the knowledge that this is really it. He knew it would probably end like this, but he wasn’t ready for it to hurt this much. He pulls out his last trump card, and cringes even as he uses it. "I can’t believe you’re really going to do this. You're really going to let all this go - the chance to build something with your best friends, to build something good and important and useful, something that you’d fucking love - all because we were sad and drunk and shared one stupid kiss?”

Tommy's eyes go wide.

Favs breathes so much air into his lungs that his chest bows. Then he bends down to pick up Leo, who's panting at his feet, exhausted from playing himself out during their argument. “I need some time,” he says, not looking at either of them. "Don’t follow me."

He turns and melts into the crowd of tourists.

Lovett watches him go, long after he’s lost track of his green henley.

“So, you, ahh, you and Jon kissed?”

Lovett blinks at Tommy. His eyes are wet. “It wasn't- It doesn't matter. It didn't mean anything to him.”

“I wouldn't be so sure of that.” Tommy wraps his arm around Lovett's shoulders and steers them back down the mountain. “My flight doesn't leave for another few hours and I say we leave science for another day. Let's get drunk.”

“That sounds like a fucking fantastic idea.”

***

“Hey,” Tommy says, tapping at Lovett's palm as they idle in the back of their Lyft, stuck in LAX traffic. “I've finally figured something out, after all these years."

Favs hadn’t come back by the time Tommy had to leave for the airport and Lovett’s been sitting next to him, silently, for the full forty-five minutes since they left his house.

Lovett rolls his head to look at Tommy. His breath smells like gin and rum when he hums in response.

"You play the pessimist-”

"I’m a gay, Jewish New Yorker. It's the role I was born to play.”

“But,” Tommy continues, smiling softly at him, “you're the most optimistic of all of us.”

Lovett flushes, dropping his chin to his chest. “Maybe you're right. But don't go spreading that around. I wouldn’t want to have to crash any vicious rumors.”

“Wouldn't want that,” Tommy agrees.

Lovett leans forward, getting their driver's attention. They're still a terminal away from where they need to go, but the car is starting to feel too warm and too close. “This is good, you can let us out here.”

The fresh air is good. Pundit, at least, appreciates it, as she leads the way to their Terminal, sniffing everything in her path. 

“This sucks,” Lovett says, finally, when they're standing outside security. There's a big, Favs-shaped hole between them, no matter how tightly Tommy's trying to hug him to make up for the gap. “I'm so sick of doing this.”

“I know,” Tommy whispers into his hair. “Someday soon we’ll be doing this in the Arrivals terminal for the last time.”

“And you say I'm the optimist.” Lovett pulls back, wiping at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. He's a mess. “They're calling your flight.”

“Yeah.” Tommy leans down, brushing a kiss to the corner of Lovett's mouth. “Yeah,” he breathes again, and then he pulls away and joins the security line.

Lovett bends down to cuddle Pundit. He watches Tommy all the way through the security line, until he can't see him anymore.

***

When the door opens hours later, Lovett's gone through a bottle of the wine and his next three lectures. 

Pundit's curled next to him, her head resting heavy in the crook of his elbow, but she lifts it to watch Favs come in.

He looks awful. His hair is fluffed in more disarray than Lovett's seen in years, since the long nights they used to spend working on the State of the Union addresses. He's a little sweaty from walking for hours, his eyes a little loose as they sweep over Lovett, spread out on the carpet with his computer and piles of papers around him. Leo's cradled in his arms, mostly asleep from what Lovett can only assume has been hours of aimless walking.

“Hey.” Favs voice is as rough as he looks.

“Fuck,” Lovett greets.

Favs cringes, closes his eyes, then forcefully opens them again. “I'm sorry for walking out. Again.”

Lovett shrugs. “I'm getting used to it.”

“You shouldn't.” He crosses over to Lovett and sits on the couch behind him, just an inch or so from where Lovett's lying. He puts Leo down next to him and Pundit jumps out over Lovett's back so that she can curl around Leo on the couch. “You should never stop calling me on my shit.”

Lovett sits up, twisting so that he’s resting back against the couch. He turns his head so that he's looking up at Favs. “In that case- you can't keep running away every time you're mad at me.”

“I wasn't mad at you.”

Lovett snorts.

“No, listen. I was mad at the situation, but I wasn't- Fuck, I can't ever be mad at you.”

“You were mad that I forgot the beet chips at Whole Foods. That was _yesterday_.”

"Beet chips don’t count. I was mad for, like, a minute.” Favs rolls his eyes, chastises, “don't be an idiot.”

Lovett crosses his arms across his chest, looking away. “Fine, whatever, argue semantics all you’d like. It doesn't explain why you've been avoiding me for a year. You don't answer texts. You never call. Tommy and I came to fucking Boston and you graced us with your presence for one measly day.”

“It was a good day.”

It takes everything in Lovett to bite back all the ugly, dangerous things that have been boiling in his chest for months now. “Sure, it was a good day,” he allows, instead.

Favs' voice drops and softens. “It was the best day I’d had in months.”

He lets it hang in the air for a long, quiet moment.

Then continues, “I know it doesn't make up for anything, but I am sorry. It's been killing me to stay away from you.”

“Then why did you?” Lovett sighs, deeper and harsher than he meant to. “You're my best friend. You're, like, my third arm. A more attractive, much longer arm, but, still my arm, you know?”

“Um, maybe? That metaphor went on for a bit, I didn’t quite follow."

Lovett laughs and reaches up to punch his thigh. This feels so normal. After a day of anger and worry and disappointment, Favs says a few stupid, funny things, and Lovett feels settled again. It isn’t- he can’t let Favs do this. He drops his head against the couch cushion. “What is so bad that you couldn't turn to Tommy or I for help?”

Favs must feel his sincerity, because he takes a deep breath, and drops the act. "I couldn't. I- it was- I just-” He reaches out for Lovett but stops himself, his hand resting on the couch inches from Lovett's head. He sighs, shifting uncomfortably. “I need you to know that what happened with Emily wasn't your fault. We were having problems long before I kissed you.”

“I didn't realize it had gotten that bad," Lovett murmurs.

“I know. I didn't want you to.”

Lovett flinches, and Favs finally, finally lets his hand tangle in Lovett's curls.

“But, when it's not right, it's not right.” Favs chuckles, dropping his voice even further. “She's the one who told me to kiss you, you know?”

Lovett sits up, dislodging Favs' hand. “No. I did not know that.”

Favs is smiling, small and a little sad. “I always thought it was normal. You and Tommy and I. But it's not, is it?”

Lovett shrugs, sitting back on his heels so he's facing Favs' knees. “I don't know. Trump’s in the White House, what’s up is down. What is normal, these days?”

“Fair point.” Favs reaches out again, spreading his hand on the cushion next to him, so their fingers are brushing. “But I don't think wet dreams about your best friends are normal in any circumstance.”

“Um.” Lovett chokes. “Not usually, no.”

“I was in an impossible situation.” Favs lets his eyes slip closed. “I was heartbroken after the election, lost and confused, and all I wanted to do was bury myself in you. But I couldn't- If you didn't- If I wasn't sure- I’d just lost everything I’d ever held dear. I couldn't lose you, too.”

“Jon-”

Favs takes his hand and opens his eyes. “So, I took some time to sort myself out. I'm so sorry that I had to hurt you and Tommy. It was the last thing I ever wanted to do, but the alternative-” Favs shudders. “I needed to get my head on straight before I came to you.”

Lovett swallows. In his most narcissistic moments, he’d thought about this. Back at the White House, mostly, but also in those years when they were all on the West Coast, when it had felt like he was waiting, waiting, waiting for something that he didn't quite understand. 

He has so many things he wants to ask, but he settles on - “Have you told Tommy yet?” - which, he figures, is the most important one.

Favs shakes his head. His fingers are dancing along Lovett's, which isn't entirely fair. Lovett's entire world is turning upside down and he doesn't know how he's supposed to be thinking properly when Favs is touching him like that.

“Not yet. I figured you were an easier target.” He smirks, the first smirk Lovett has seen all year and-

Fuck. Lovett is so fucked.

“I'm going to give you hell about that later,” Lovett promises. “But, you weren't wrong.”

Favs' smirk slips into a real, honest, face-splitting grin. “Yeah?”

“I mean, it's not like I've been pining away for you for the last decade.” Lovett drops his eyes to the side. “But, like, I have been. A little.”

Favs' smile crinkles his forehead and settles in the corners of his eyes. “That's, ahh, that's good. Because I'm pretty crazy about you, and it would be awfully embarrassing if I was the only one.”

“Please, feel free to tell me more.”

“Which part do you wanna hear?” Favs twists their fingers together and tugs on Lovett's hand, until he climbs onto the couch, his knees on either side of Favs' thighs. “How I’ve never been able to stop thinking about your fingers.” He pulls Lovett's hand up to his mouth so he can press small, closed-mouth kisses to his fingertips. “So distracting, every time you talk with them.”

“I-” Lovett swallows. His whole body feels warm, like he's walking through a dream he never wants to wake up from. “I do that a lot.”

“I know.” Favs chuckles, warm and breathing against Lovett's palm. “Trust me, I know.”

"Like, in the White House?"

Favs nods.

"In the Oval? Pitching jokes to the President of the United States?"

"Especially then."

"Well." Lovett grins. "That’s good knowledge to have."

Favs chuckles again, and Lovett sways closer. Close enough to feel how hard he is, just from this, from some finger kissing and a smile. 

Lovett breathes a deep, fucked breath. “Tell me more,” he orders.

“You're a monster.” Favs says it softly, fondly, and he shifts on the couch. It's good, at least, to know that they're both turned on like teenagers in the back of his dad's Camaro. Favs grasps at the back of his thighs, holding him there. “I thought a lot about your legs in those stupid skinny jeans. They leave so little to the imagination. But you know me, always an overachiever."

"A good quality," Lovett agrees. 

"And the way you sit-" Favs continues. "Fuck, Jon, who taught you to sit in a fucking chair? Every chair, a new angle, a new crease, a new way for my mind to imagine you above me, just like this.” Favs shakes his head. He's more than a little breathless. “I don't know how you never caught me staring.”

Lovett laughs, shaking his head. “Now I know you're lying.”

“I'm not.” Favs runs his hand up Lovett's sweatpants, stopping at the crease of his thigh to play with the fabric. “I'm really, really not.”

“Fuck.” Lovett rises, pushing into Favs' hands. “Kiss me. Fuck, please, kiss me.”


	6. Chapter 6

Lovett wakes up long before the sun rises. He’s almost certain that he’s only been asleep for a couple of hours, but Pundit is on his side of the bed, licking at his hand. He reminds himself that she’s had almost a full night’s rest since she passed out halfway through his first bottle of wine, and drags himself out of bed.

He hops into a pair of boxers that feel loose on his hips and pulls a hoodie over his head, herding both Pundit and Leo out of the room, shooshing them as quietly as he can. 

Late night dog walks are becoming a habit, he thinks, as he stands outside in his fluffy Ugg slip-ons, shivering as the cool morning air brushes against his bare legs. He’s feeling soft and easy, despite the chill, just like he was a few nights ago. Only, this time, Favs is asleep in his bed, rather than passed out on his couch. Lovett smiles to himself at the idea.

Next to him, Pundit barks. "Shh. You’re giving me a bad rep with the neighbors, and we might wanna stay here for a while," he tells her.

She wags her tail. Lovett throws her ball, laughing when Leo beats her at the last minute.

"Don’t look at me," he tells her, when she turns to him for sympathy. "You’re gonna have to learn to be a bit faster."

Leo drops the ball at his feet. Lovett throws it again and watches them chase through the yard after it.

If this is becoming habit, Lovett’s pretty sure he could get used to it.

He throws the ball until they both look tired enough to pass out again, and then he takes them inside and fills their water and breakfast bowls. While they’re distracted, he slips back into the bedroom, closing the door tight behind him.

Favs is still asleep, but he’s spread out into the warm spot Lovett left behind. Unlike a few nights ago, though, he’s starfished on his back across the bed, taking up as much space as his long limbs possibly can. One of his feet is hanging over the edge and Lovett can just make out the bare patch of skin at his hip where the quilt has ridden up.

Lovett climbs onto the bed, careful not to wake him, and pulls the comforter back. Favs is so open and innocent in his sleep, his body’s every secret laid bare for Lovett to catalogue. From the swell of his Adam’s apple to the jut of his hipbones, the curve of his dick against the incongruous pale strip of skin at the top of his thighs and the vivid bruises Lovett’s mouth had left just a few hours ago.

Lovett reaches out to press his finger against the largest one, watching, fascinated, as Favs twitches and groans. Lovett settles himself between Favs’ thighs at a better angle and Favs’ whole body tightens under Lovett’s touch, leaning into him, chasing his hand. Like, subconsciously, he knows where Lovett is, wants him, wants this, needs it, like he needs water and air and Twitter. 

When Favs’ mind is quiet, when he can’t question what he wants, what he feels, what he wants to feel is Lovett.

It’s intoxicating.

It’s the most intoxicating bit of knowledge that Lovett has ever been entrusted with. 

He reaches forward, wrapping Favs in his fist.

***

"You don’t have Pre-Check? How can you not have Pre-Check? It’s hands-down the most useful thing I’ve ever spent $85 on."

"What are you?" Favs asks, pushing Lovett’s shoulder, urging him forward in the security line. "A TSA representative?"

Lovett gestures to the long line of travelers in front of them. "A concerned citizen."

"Pre-Check isn’t even applicable for international flights, is it?"

Lovett scrunches up his nose. "Whatever. When we get back to LA, the first thing I’m doing is marching you to the nearest TSA checkpoint to get you approved."

"Are you going to hold my hand, too?"

"If that’s what you need." Lovett rolls his eyes. "The things I do for you."

Favs leans down, his breath warm against Lovett’s ear. "There are other things I’d much rather you do to me."

Lovett chuckles, pushing him away - "You’re a monster, I’ve created a monster" - but he can feel his cheeks flush and his dick twitch in his sweatpants. Traitor.

"Mmm." Favs hums, pressing a quick, barely perceptible kiss to Lovett’s neck, in deference to his deep aversion to public displays of affection.

It warms Lovett’s chest. He knows that, if Favs were to have his way, they’d be halfway to a public indecency arrest by now. To reward him, Lovett slides his hand under the duffle bag slung over Favs’ shoulder, slipping his finger into Favs’ belt loop and leaning a step closer. In return, Favs treats him to an ear-splitting grin.

It’s a compromise. Lovett’s been learning to compromise a lot over the past few days. 

"Sirs?" The security guard calls, waving them forward with a bored, lazy gesture. Reluctantly, Favs pulls away from Lovett, holding out both their passports.

They make it through security without incident, and high tail it to the bar. They have just enough time to split a bottle of wine and a couple of Ambien and still get to the gate on Favreau mean time, which is, as Lovett grumbles more than once, "an obscene amount of time to sit in cold, plastic chairs just in case- what? The plane leaves early. Like Delta doesn’t have an average delay time of sixty-seven minutes for international flights."

"How," Favs asks, as he falls into his chair, "do you know that?"

Lovett shrugs, the cotton of his shirt rustling against Favs’. "I looked it up. I wanted to be prepared, you know, for any eventualities. You’re a terrible flyer."

Favs grins, taking it for the sign of affection that it’s meant to be, stretching his arm out against the back of Lovett’s chair and, with his free hand, pulling up Twitter. "God, this fucking Donor Relief act is actually gonna pass, isn’t it?"

Lovett looks up from his own phone. "Write that down. We should use that."

"I already did." Favs twists his phone so that Lovett can see a notes document filled with text. "When you were sleeping yesterday. ’Til ten fucking am."

Lovett shrugs. "Not my fault you wore me out."

Favs’ eyes go dark, his pupils dilating enough that Lovett can see them from a foot away.

Lovett chuckles, nudging his knee. "Read your phone."

Favs sighs, turning his eyes back to his screen. He satisfies himself with rhythmic, tantalizing brushes of his fingers against Lovett’s shoulder. It’s infuriating how turned on Lovett gets at just the thought of sex with Favs, and he’s pretty happy when their flight is called and the Ambien starts kicking in, simultaneously.

He leads the way down the gangplank and onto the plane. He insists on the window seat, sliding in as Favs puts both their carry-ons in the overhead compartment, but then immediately raises the armrest and pushes into Favs’ space. "I miss Pundit."

Favs grunts.

Lovett rolls his eyes. "Leo, too, obviously."

"You don’t need to specify," Favs murmurs into the top of his head, "he’s a third yours now, anyway."

Lovett hums in agreement, the sound lost in Favs’ shoulder. He drifts off before takeoff.

***

Brussels is snowing, dressed for Christmas, and nine hours ahead of their body clocks when they land the next afternoon. Lovett’s barely awake as he stands on the curb, poking at the Lyft app, willing it to say something more useful than 'not yet available in your area.'

"Cab," Favs says, which isn’t a sentence, really.

"Some speech writer you are," Lovett mutters.

But Favs raises his hand and a taxi does pull up to the curb. Lovett glares at it for a moment, before he lifts his suitcase into the trunk and follows Favs into the backseat.

"You know, taxis are a lot less safe than ride share apps."

"You know," Favs says, leaning closer and dropping his voice, "most people in Belgium speak English?"

Lovett shrugs, but he keeps his eyes half-hidden, gaze steady on their driver. Just in case. He doesn’t want anything to go wrong before they even get to Tommy. After they see Tommy- well, then all bets are off.

For all the times Lovett’s imagined this in the past few months, he’s never imagined this part. The part where he and Favs fly halfway across the world to try and woo their friend away from high International office with the promise of a most-likely-to-fail startup and, hopefully, enough sex to make up for it.

"This was a bad idea," he breathes as they race past gothic-inspired, criminally old buildings.

Favs squeezes his knee.

***

It’s mid-morning, so they have the taxi drop them off at the UN. It’s a tall, circular building, more intimidating than the White House ever was, with a little less security and a lot more pomp and circumstance.

"We’re here for Tommy Vietor." Favs leans his elbows on the security desk, letting his shirt fall open a little and blinking his eyelashes. They’ve been on a plane for the exact same amount of time, and Lovett can smell his own sleep-sweat and his eyes feel crusted-together with sleep crud. The girl’s picking up what Favs is offering, though, giggling a little and crossing her legs purposefully as she dials the phone. It’s not fair.

"He’s coming," Favs says, as he joins Lovett on the couch. His body is thrumming, nerves coming through in the desperate bounce of his knee against the cold marble floor. Lovett lifts himself, crossing his legs and letting his knee fall, warm and steadying, over Favs’ thigh. "Fuck," Favs whispers.

"Yeah," Lovett agrees. And then they wait.

***

They see Tommy before he sees them. 

And watch as Tommy stops, halfway down the hallway and still feet behind the security barrier, his eyes going wide and his skin paling a few shades.

"Hey Tommy," Lovett calls. It echoes in the vast lobby. "Miss us?"

Tommy shakes himself, grasping onto Lovett’s loose, carefully easy tone like a lifeline. "It’s been, like, three days. I’m not even over the jet lag yet. How could I miss you?"

"I don’t know." Lovett shrugs, rising to meet him as he makes it through security and closes the distance between them. As he gets closer, Lovett can see that there are deep, tired circles under his eyes. "I miss you after, like, five minutes, so it’s not out of the question."

"Stop fishing for compliments. It’s embarrassing." Tommy’s smiling, though. He reaches out to take Lovett’s carry-on, then turns to the security desk. "I’m taking the afternoon off. Hold my calls."

She nods, looking from Favs, to Tommy, to Lovett. She seems to understand, at least a little bit, how slim her chances with Favs really are. "Yes, Mr. Vietor."

"Mr. Vietor?" Favs asks, as they emerge back into the light snowfall. 

"It’s embarrassing." Tommy isn’t wearing a coat - he probably thought he was getting called down to the lobby to pick up sandwiches or sign his name to some diplomat’s security clearance - and he’s shaking, a little. He pops the collar of his suit jacket, then digs his hands deep into the pockets of his pants.

"Here," Favs stops on the sidewalk, squatting down to unzip his suitcase, "I brought another coat. I wasn’t sure how cold it’d be."

"Fuck." Tommy swings on them. His face is flushed, cheeks pink from the cold and neck warm with it. "Not that I don’t- I’m glad you’re fucking here. I’m glad you’re-" He waves his hand at them. "I’m glad you worked through whatever the fuck this is. But- Jesus. A phone call would have killed you?"

Favs looks up at Lovett. "I told you this was a bad idea."

Lovett rolls his eyes, mutters, "traitor," before turning back to Tommy. "Oh, come of it. You knew it would happen exactly like this."

"I didn’t." He holds onto his righteous indignation for another few moments, then gives up the game. "I kind of thought I’d get a Skype call."

"That said- what? ’Favs and I are fucking. Come home?’" Lovett tilts his head. "Now that I say it out loud, I kinda wish we had done that, just so we could screencap your face and frame it to shame you in front of our future grandchildren."

"As much as I regret not having that picture, and, trust me, I do regret it, it felt like this was more of an in-person kind of thing." Favs finally finds his second coat and pulls it out of his suitcase, rising and crossing to Tommy. "I’m an old-fashioned kinda guy. Sue me."

Lovett snorts. "Luddite, more like."

Favs chuckles, reaching out to wrap the coat around Tommy’s shoulders. He brushes his hands along Tommy’s shoulders, before tracing them down his chest, pulling his lapels closed. "Besides, if we had told you over Skype, we wouldn’t have been able to do this." He tilts his head up and Tommy meets him halfway.

It’s still snowing. The UN building is still towering over them. Their luggage is scattered, abandoned, on the sidewalk.

Favs’ hand grips Tommy’s hip. Tommy’s mouth opens. Tommy’s hands, cracked and pink from the cold, reach out for Lovett.

Lovett’s forgotten what it was like, to live a life less ridiculous.

He steps into the circle of warmth. "Take us home."

***

"Hey." Tommy’s voice is low. It echoes off the blank walls and high ceilings of his ultra-modern apartment. It was built to house UN and EU diplomats who prefer function over historical idealism, all right angles and shades of grey.

It does, however, have heated floors. Lovett flexes his toes against the tile. "Hey. There’s coffee in the kitchen."

"Thanks." Tommy disappears for a moment, then comes back with two steaming mugs. He replaces Lovett’s lukewarm one. "How long have you been up?"

Lovett shrugs. "A few hours. It’s becoming a habit." He’d be worried about that, really, except he’s always been terrible with jet lag. And, unlike him, Favs and Tommy are both nervous enough fliers to spend transatlantic flights gripping their armrests rather than napping. So, while Lovett’s mind had been racing at half past twelve, they’d both been sleeping soundly, and he’d left them to it.

"Jet lag," Tommy offers, as if he can read Lovett’s mind. "Stress. It’s been a busy few days."

Lovett lets himself smile. It feels private and sincere in the low, midnight light. "Good, though?"

"Yeah." Tommy grins, burying it in his mug as he blows on the hot coffee. "Very good."

"So." Lovett drums his fingers against the stack of papers spread out on Tommy’s dining room table. The top one is on official card stock, Tommy’s lawyer’s name stamped across the top. It has three post-it notes marking places for three signatures. Tommy has already signed under his name. "This is dated September 13th."

Tommy, at least, has the decency to look a little guilty. "Yeah."

"You incorporated a company- you incorporated _our_ company - three months ago?"

Tommy shrugs. "It’s not official until you and Jon sign it."

"Cool cool cool cool."

"You don’t have to. Sign it. If you don’t want-"

"Of course I want to, don’t be stupid." Lovett pats the papers around him. "Where’s a pen? Who even uses pens to sign documents anymore? Stupid Europeans and their stupid technological latency."

"Jon." Tommy reaches out, placing his hand over Lovett’s, stilling him. "You aren’t the only one who’s been wanting this for a long time."

Lovett looks away, but he doesn’t move his hand. 

Tommy pushes back his chair, crossing to Lovett and leaning against the table next to him. "Jon and I, we aren’t going anywhere. You don’t need to rush through everything. We’re here. For good."

Lovett looks back at the legal contract. "Crooked Media?"

"Yeah." Tommy squeezes the back of his neck. "You mentioned it, once. Seemed fitting."

"I knew it sounded familiar." Lovett chuckles, glancing up at Tommy. "But that had to have been- I don’t remember, June or something?"

"April."

"April," Lovett repeats. He shoves his own chair back, pushing Tommy onto the table and stepping between his knees. "Fuck, Tommy."

Tommy sighs into Lovett’s mouth, curling his ankle around Lovett’s thighs and pulling him closer. Tommy is loose and sleep-warm, and Lovett is pretty sure that he’s wearing Favs’ boxer briefs. They’re a little loose around his thighs, and Lovett reaches down, slipping his fingers under the gap in the material.

"So," Lovett asks, when he needs to pull back to catch his breath, "you’ve been thinking about this since April?"

"The company," Tommy corrects him. He tugs at the waistband of Lovett’s sweats, twisting his wrist so he can reach inside. "I’ve been thinking about this since the moment I met you."

***

Lovett shoves his boarding pass into his back pocket and drops his duffle bag at their feet. There’s a large 'Departures' sign over their head, and he scowls at it before rounding on Tommy. "You promised we wouldn’t have to do this again."

Tommy brushes Lovett’s curls off the back of his neck. "This doesn’t count. I’ll be in LA by Christmas."

Lovett sighs. "That’s, like, four weeks from now. Good thing I’ll have both Pundit and Leo to keep me company. That house is going to feel awfully big and lonely."

"Because boxes of Papa John’s and MSNBC counted as company before now?" Favs chuckles, then softens his words with, "I asked you to come to Boston with me. Help me pack up my apartment."

Lovett points his finger at Favs’ chest. "You’re not bringing a single piece of decoration. We don’t need our house to look dead and soulless."

"My mom decorated that apartment."

"Exactly." Lovett sighs. "We left our dogs in LA and I do have students. I need to finish out the semester. It’s not fair to give them a terrible education while I follow my dick to Boston."

Tommy chokes.

"Oh, this is going to be fun." Lovett’s eyes widen gleefully.

Favs laughs. "Come on, monster. We have flights to board."

Lovett sighs, but he reaches out to give Tommy a quick, close-mouthed kiss not unlike the one they shared last time, at LAX, before they were any of this. Tommy protests, tugging Lovett closer. It doesn’t last long, then he does the same with Favs, with a little more tongue.

Favs’ face is red when he pulls back, his eyes a little glassy. He wraps an absent arm around Lovett’s shoulders and steers them, by rote muscle memory, towards security. 

***

**Spring 2018**

"Welcome to Crooked Media headquarters." Lovett pushes open the door and steps over the three boxes piled in the entryway. "I apologize for the mess. We’ve only just rented offices that aren’t my dining room table."

"Just like any start-up." Jason Zengerle of the New York Magazine chuckles.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry." Heidi rushes over, looking askance at the mess. "I was going to unpack those before you got here, but then Tommy decided to use them as a puppy gate and-" She brushes her braid over her shoulder and holds out her hand. "I’m Heidi."

He steps over the boxes and takes her hand. "Jason."

"We stole Heidi from Congresswoman Bryant’s office in Oregon. She tries to keep us in line. Some days she has more success than others." Lovett squats down to catch a small, wiggling, brown puppy as she tries to squeeze past his feet. "And this is Lucca. I assume the boxes were for her?"

"Yeah." Heidi shrugs. "She’s still learning boundaries."

"She’s only two months old," Lovett explains. "Same age as Crooked Media, actually, and about as well-behaved."

Jason chuckles.

"Where’s the actual baby gate?" He asks Heidi, as they move into the main room. It’s not much, but there are desks and shiny new laptops and a designated recording studio. Lovett loves it.

"Pundit taught her how to jump the actual baby gate." Favs stands up from behind his laptop and crosses to them, holding out his hand. "Jon Favreau. Tommy’s just finishing up an interview for a new podcast we’re about to launch, then we can use the studio."

Jason sits in an armchair and takes the La Croix Lovett hands him. "New podcast?"

"Yeah." Favs sits across from him on the couch, crossing his legs. Lovett sits next to him, Lucca still squirming in his hands. Favs lets their knees brush. "Tommy has a lot of foreign policy experience, so his podcast is going to focus on that, which is great, because we don’t often get to foreign policy issues on Pod Save America."

"And you, Lovett? Do you have your own podcast?"

"Soon." Lovett feels a thrill down his spine, and he sits up straighter, giving up on containing Lucca and letting her crawl onto the back of the couch, resting her paws on his shoulder. "It even has a theme song. Wanna hear?"

Favs rolls his eyes. "You really don’t. You’ll never be able to stop humming it."

"That’s the point." Lovett starts up his Sonos app and the Lovett it or Leave it theme song blasts through the speakers.

Favs drops his head into his hands.

"Awesome, isn’t it?" Lovett grins.

Jason laughs. "Do you expect these podcasts to be as popular as Pod Save America?"

"I mean, Pod Save America is a juggernaut," Lovett says, talking loudly over the theme song until Favs plucks his phone out of his hand and turns it off. "It would be stupid to expect every podcast to be top of the charts week after week. But," Lovett shrugs, "we do expect that."

"We believe," Favs says, "that there’s a real need for a talk radio of the left, if you will. People are angry and they’re hurt and they’re frustrated. They’re inundated with news on Twitter and cable news punditry, but none of it speaks to them. We hear, over and over again from our listeners, that they’re desperate for a way to cut through the noise. That’s what we’re doing with every podcast here at Crooked Media so, yeah, Lovett’s right. We expect them to do well, because we’re filling a niche that’s sorely needed."

"So, the talking heads of the left?"

"No, no," Lovett shakes his head wildly. "No talking heads- God, if I ever see a stick with a mask of my face on it-"

"You’d love it," Favs teases, grinning indulgently.

"Well, yeah, of course I’d love it." Lovett rolls his eyes. "But that’s not really what we’re trying to do here. That cult of personality- that’s what’s destroyed the cable news industry. If Trump’s presidency has taught us anything, it’s that we cannot ensure our interests to politicians, lobbyists, and the media. If Democracy is to survive, it has to be by the people."

"That’s why we’re working so closely with grassroots organizations like Swing Left and Move On. People want a way to channel their anger into something productive, so in every show we give people ways to do that."

"When listeners come up to us, the first thing I ask is when was the last time they called their Congressperson. If the answer is more than a week ago, we won’t talk to them."

"He’s not joking."

"Well, it’s working." Jason nods. "The Resistance has held back a number of conservative agenda points."

"ACA won’t be safe until Trump is out of the White House," Lovett warns. "Everyone has to stay vigilant."

"And vote in 2018."

Jason’s making notes in his phone. He’s typing a mile a minute to keep up with them. "And it’s working for you, too. Pod Save America gets over a million and a half downloads a week."

"Yeah," Favs agrees.

"So far," Lovett adds. 

Favs laughs. "From $100 and a few Blue Apron ads to real, honest to god office space. I’d say that’s a good sign."

Lovett shrugs. "True, true. We have a lot more in the works, though."

"Big plans," Favs says, cryptically.

"Like?" Jason prods.

Favs shrugs. "A tour in the Spring. Pod Save the World and Lovett or Leave It launching in the next few weeks. A larger podcast slate featuring a larger array of voices. Among other things."

"Hey," Tommy pokes his head out of the studio. "Sorry that went long, Ben can really talk. We wanna use the studio?"

Lucca perks up at his voice, bounding down Lovett’s chest. Lovett catches her. "Your dog is a menace," he complains, handing her over as he squeezes past Tommy into the studio.

"Well, yours is an angel. She only barked five times during the interview."

"Lies," Lovett calls. "She’s fucking sleeping in here."

"Yeah, cause she wore out her vocal cords," Tommy calls back.

"You’re not gonna keep all this in the article, are you?" Favs asks.

Jason laughs.

***

The article comes out a few weeks later.

Lovett picks up three copies on his way home from his second-ever late night taping of Lovett it or Leave It and even resists pulling over to read it.

"I have copies," he calls as a greeting, as he squeezes his way through the door from the garage, fending off Leo and Lucca with his foot.

"Family room," Tommy calls back, and Lovett follows his voice, toeing off his shoes on the threshold and glaring at Pundit, who’s still only managed to perk up her ears from her place in Favs’ lap. "Traitor," he tells her, as he drops a magazine onto her head.

Favs ruffles her ears as he opens the magazine to the right page. "Picture looks good. Tommy has freckles for days." 

Tommy ignores him in favor of looking nervously at Lovett. "Have you read it yet?"

Lovett tosses Tommy his copy, then drags his feet onto the couch next to Favs. Leo and Lucca jump up after him which, Lovett thinks, is exactly what Pundit deserves. "I’m wounded that you’d ask such a thing."

"Now I’m even more suspicious."

Lovett turns sideways, kicking his feet out in front of him and leaning, hard, against Favs’ shoulder. "No, I have not read it."

"'Their podcast has come to occupy a singular perch in blue America,'" Tommy reads, out loud. Lovett scours down the page to catch up with him. "'Where an NPR tote bag once signified a certain political persuasion and mind-set, in the age of Trump, it’s a 'Friend of the Pod' T-shirt.'" 

"''Pod Save America,’ says the Democratic strategist Jesse Ferguson, 'is the voice of the resistance,''" Favs keeps reading.

Lovett skims ahead, smiling to himself.

Favs presses a kiss to the top of his head. "Any regrets?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Lovett shakes the magazine. "We’re the 'voice of the resistance.' What more could I ever want?"

"I don’t know." Favs lets his hand trail down Lovett’s chest, stopping just at the waistband of his pants. "I could think of a few things."

Lovett arches into his touch. "Okay, okay. I’m gonna take the dogs out. Meet you in the bedroom? We have some things to celebrate."

Favs is off the couch before Lovett has even righted himself. He laughs as he lets the dogs into the backyard and follows them out.

LA’s just starting to smell like Spring, and Lovett throws the ball for them as he gives himself a moment to think about how far they’ve come.

The light flicks on in the bedroom and Tommy calls down to him. "Get up here, asshole, or we’re gonna start without you."

Lovett laughs and heads inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.nytimes.com/2017/11/22/magazine/the-voices-in-blue-americas-head.html?_r=1) is the article mentioned at the end

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are like air and water, so please leave them! Or come chat with me on [Tumblr](http://stainyourhands.tumblr.com/) \- my inbox is open at any and all times!


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